Archive of Our Own ^beta

Things were not going well. 

“Can you just look again?”

Like, sure. Things weren’t end of the world bad.

“I already told you, it says we’ll go down this road–”

But things weren’t great. Not by any stretch of the imagination. 

“–What road?” Steve asks, completely exasperated. He ignores the glare he can feel burning against the side of his face. 

“–We’ll go down this road for another five miles, and then we’ll take a left. Then it’s a straight line from here to the campgrounds,” Eddie says, gesturing with his hand – and map – at Steve. 

“Can you not shove that in my face?” Steve says, swatting Eddie’s arm out of the way. “I’m trying to see this road that, you know, barely even qualifies as a road.”

“There’s asphalt. Seems like a road to me,” Eddie says simply, ignoring the stiffness in Steve’s voice. 

“You’re not the one who has to drive on it.”

“Hey, man. I offered to drive, you’re the one who insisted we take your car.” Eddie pops another handful of peanuts into his mouth. 

He chews too loudly - obnoxiously - and Steve almost wants to turn the radio back up, just to drown him out. But they had that argument about thirty minutes into the drive, and Steve isn't sure he has it in him to fight about music for a second time. He might have an aneurism before then anyway, so he supposes it doesn’t really matter. 

Muttering, Steve says, “I don’t think the van would've made it this far without self-immolating.”

Eddie scoffs. “It broke down once, she’d be fine to make the trip. You just don’t want me controlling the music that long.”

When Steve doesn’t answer, Eddie chuckles to himself. He’s been doing that the entire trip: sensing Steve’s discomfort and playing it off like he’s completely relaxed, totally unbothered by it. But Steve can feel the tension oozing out of Eddie. The nervous jiggle of his leg, the seemingly random rapping of his fingers against the armrest. All of it is driving Steve insane. 

“Whatever. Is there a gas station along the way?” Steve asks, eyes flicking over to Eddie, who – Jesus – is a lot closer than he’d been a minute before.

Leaning into Steve’s space, shoulders touching, as he peers at the gas gauge. Too close. 

Steve can smell the scent of clean clothes, body wash, light perspiration on his skin – almost familiar at this point, and that means he’s definitely too close. 

“Got plenty of gas, Harrington,” Eddie points out, side-eyeing Steve, who glances back. The fading sun makes Eddie's eyes go bright, highlighting the red hues and speckles along his iris'. He's got nice eyes. Even Steve can admit that. Perfectly round, deceptively deep. And– huh. How hadn’t he noticed that before?

“Steve, Christ– look where you’re going!”

He nearly swerves off the abominable fucking road and has to tug the wheel sharply to the left, knocking elbows with Eddie. Fuck, that hurt. As he hisses out a slow breath, Steve's already adding a heart attack and going deaf from the shriek Eddie let out to his ever-growing list of maladies from this one stupid road trip.

“What were you doing, dude?" Eddie asks, clutching dramatically at the armrest. "Are you actively trying to kill us before we get there?” 

Steve can hear the way the leather creaks under Eddie’s vice grip, and if he wasn’t busy trying not to throw up the nothing in his stomach, he’d probably bitch at him for it. But he gets a pass, this time. 

“No, obviously I wasn't trying to– look. Can you just find a gas station we can stop at? Please?” Steve tacks on, just because he thinks it might be the only way Eddie might possibly comply. He has to grit it out through clenched teeth, and maybe that contributes to the not-so subtle scoff Eddie lets out.

“What for?”

“Food? I’m starving.” He doesn’t bother mentioning the fact he had to skip breakfast because he had Robin and Eddie pestering him at once. Just one of them (when irate) was more than he could handle on a good day.

Steve flinches when a hand appears in front of his face, offering out a palmful of trail mix, sans peanuts.

“Thish ish food,” Eddie says through a mouthful, hand bumping against Steve’s chin. 

“That’s disgusting—“ 

“Ooh, don’t say that, baby, you know that turns me on—“ 

“Stop it– seriously, knock it off, do you want us to crash?” Steve says, shoving him away again, “I meant real food. Substantial stuff, food pyramid things.”

He hears more than sees Eddie’s shrug as he slumps back in his seat, propping one foot up against the dashboard. 

“‘S a fuckin’ waste of money,” Eddie mumbles, wiping his hands on his jeans. “We’ve got snacks. And we’re going to be there in, like– half an hour anyway. Quit moaning.”

“Can you at least look?”

“Seriously, man?”

“Yes? Don’t make me say ‘please’ again, I think it might actually kill me,” Steve mutters under his breath.

Eddie makes a show of holding the map up to his face, away – back up to his face, so close his nose bumps against the paper, moving in jerky motions so the paper rustles jarringly loud. 

And then, “Nope, nothin’– sorry.” 

Steve sighs, long-suffering– the way people tend to sigh around Eddie Munson. “Typical.” 

They make it another ten minutes before Eddie starts doing something horrible again. Steve is gripping the steering wheel hard so as not to swerve off the dirt road Eddie’s now directed them onto, and that’s when it starts. 

Eddie’s humming. Except– it’s not really humming. It's more like a targeted attack on Steve’s ears, because it’s fucking grating. Like he picked the note under the one which you’d normally pick to create some sort of harmony, somehow making the song itself sound out of tune, and just slightly off-tempo. 

“Shut up,” Steve says, half-crazed. “Please,” he adds a second later. 

Eddie throws his hands in the air. “I’m finally embracing your music and you’re telling me to quit it? Make up your mind, Harrington.” 

“Oh, you call that embracing my music? What, singing like a tone-deaf grandpa?” 

“May I remind you, I’m a guitarist, Steven, not a singer.” 

“Yeah? Act like it then.” 

“Fuck you, man.” 

The following silence feels different, this time. Tenser. It lasts longer, and Steve clenches his jaw against it. 

Eddie shifts in his seat, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear. Folds his arms over his chest and sinks lower in the car seat. 

“You can like, move,” Steve says, cutting through the awkward silence. 

Eddie huffs. “Why, thank you.” 

“Can you stop–” Steve clamps his mouth shut. 

Next to him, he feels more than sees Eddie narrowing his eyes. 

“Can I stop what?” 

“I don’t know, you’re being– shifty.”

“Shifty?” 

“Like,” he flexes his hands on the steering wheel. “Weird.” 

To that, Eddie doesn’t say anything. Steve steers the Beemer down a rocky path, stealing a glance at Eddie, but he’s no longer staring straight forward. Instead, he’s angled his whole body toward the window and away from Steve. 

Shut down, removed from the situation entirely. Even from the brief glance, Steve can tell by the stiffness in Eddie’s shoulders that he's uncomfortable. Distant. 

Great fucking way to start the weekend. 

However, as much as he wants to let Eddie sulk on his side of the car, Steve realizes what’s coming on the road ahead. He needs his help to get them to the campground, where they can ignore each other all weekend if they want. Once they actually get there. 

“Hey, we taking a left or right up here?” 

Eddie doesn’t respond. 

“Eddie?” 

Still no response. 

Annoyance flaring, Steve hits the brakes. 

Eddie flies forward, barely managing to catch himself on the dashboard, completely unprepared for the sudden stop. 

“What the hell and fuck?” Eddie pants, wide-eyed.

But Steve's trying to focus on his breathing, that metallic tang on the back of his tongue as he shifts the car to park and unbuckles his seatbelt, heart rattling against his ribs.

“We’re here.” 

Eddie scans their surroundings before his eyes flick back to Steve’s, eyebrows pulled together. 

“Uh, no we’re not.” 

“Yep. We are,” Steve says, getting out of the car before slamming the door shut. 

Eddie follows, hot on his tail. 

“Are you– no, obviously you’re not in your right mind,” Eddie mutters. “You serious?” 

“As a heart attack.” 

For a moment, they stare daggers at each other. Eddie's shoved his hands deep into his jacket's pockets, silently fuming. When he kicks at the dirt, Steve lets out a breath of a laugh he can’t keep in. He breaks. 

"Let's be, like, pragmatic about this. We'll just- get through the weekend, and we can go back to ignoring each other." 

Eddie stares, and Steve can't shake the feeling Eddie's shut him out, somehow.

Finally, Eddie shrugs. Gives him a little up-and-down, before saying, “You sound like Buckley.” 

“Yeah, so?” Steve folds his arms over his chest, then drops them, feeling stupid. 

Eddie huffs. Again. “Nothing.” 

There’s a pause where the two of them take in their surroundings and the rapidly fading sunlight, taking measure of the disastrous day.

“It’s getting dark,” Steve says, finally. “Let’s set up camp.” 

Eddie doesn’t look at him, just nodding along. Quiet, for once – biting his tongue against whatever else he might want to say to Steve in that moment. 

Feeling entirely dissatisfied despite having won, Steve does an abrupt heel-turn, grabbing the tent and his bag from the car. Out of his periphery, he sees Eddie do the same, tilting sideways as he slings his rucksack over his shoulder. 

Steve wordlessly sets the tent bag on the ground and begins the arduous process of assembly. With his back to Eddie, he has zero idea what he’s doing to keep himself busy, and he isn't really interested in asking. 

They're perfectly capable of keeping themselves occupied, they're adults. And it's good to have something to distract himself with from the ominous presence of Eddie. He can deal with that later. After they have a place to sleep and some fucking food in them. 

God, he’s hungry. 

He hears Eddie rustling around for a minute before he approaches from behind, peering over Steve’s shoulder silently. Tries ignoring him, still busy wrestling with the tent, before he eventually caves.

“Need something?”

“Just wanted to see if you need help with the tent. Looks like it's- ah, winning,” Eddie says, lowering himself on his haunches beside Steve.

“It's not winning.”

It is. But he doesn’t want Eddie’s help. 

Eddie’s shoulder brushes his own as he reaches down to grab one of the tent poles, connecting one end to the other. 

Okay, maybe if he does this slowly, he can figure it out. Vaguely, he recalls putting a tent together with Tommy, back when they were tweens, all knobbly-knees and skinny elbows. Knocked together just like him and Eddie now. he pulls away.

He’s just got to put the skeleton of the tent together, and then— right, he slides the poles through, that should be fine. 

When Eddie reaches for the other end of the pole, grabbing for the tent cover, Steve huffs. 

“Can you– just. Let me do it, man. I was an Eagle Scout.” 

Eddie gives him a look, before letting go of the pole. Laughing darkly, he says, “I bet you were.” He scrubs a hand down his face, before adding, “Fine. Whatever. Do it yourself. I’m going to go find firewood.” 

Eddie looks down at him over his nose, and Steve has to fight not to say anything else. Acquiesces with a jerky nod and the slightest stiffening of his shoulders. 

With that, Eddie walks off. Steve watches him until he’s disappeared behind a bush, and his fingers twitch around the pole. 

“Don’t go too far,” he yells when Eddie keeps walking. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie calls back. 

Steve sighs long and hard then. Robin is going to strangle him.

She’d been the one to push for them to go on this adventure together with the hopes that maybe it would force them to bond. And maybe Steve had been drunk and wistfully complaining about Eddie a little too loud when he’d agreed, but he has the sinking feeling that maybe it really had all been a terrible idea. 

He and Eddie weren’t friends, exactly. Not not friends, either. They were stuck in that middle ground of constant assessing and progressively awkward conversations every time they interacted with one another. Steve hadn’t realized the tension between them was so obvious until Robin pointed it out, and everything Steve had been feeling (and trying not to feel) about Eddie had poured out in one drunken conversation with Robin. 

She had been the one to arrange everything. They couldn’t even be counted on to do that by themselves. 

And now, here they were – camping off the side of the road, a handful of miles away from their intended destination, barely speaking a word to one another.

Eddie ignores him when he returns with his bundle of kindling and dry wood they can use to make a fire, so Steve does the same. Goes about unpacking their meager supplies while he listens to Eddie mumble to himself, assembling the fire pit. 

It was Eddie’s fault their supplies were so limited to begin with. When Eddie had shown up at Steve’s house earlier that morning, they’d immediately gotten into it, setting in motion the sense of displacement Steve had been feeling all day. 

“Hey. Steve. Can I ask you something?” Eddie had asked. He hadn’t said a word since he’d greeted Steve a half hour earlier, wordlessly watching as he loaded up the car. 

“Yes?" 

Steve had looked up expectantly from where he’d been shoving a cooler into the trunk of his car, trying to arrange everything just so. 

“How long are we going camping again?”

“Two nights. Why?” 

“You’re packing all of this. For two nights?” Eddie had asked incredulously.

A prickle of insecurity had taken root in his gut. “I like being prepared. Better to overpack than underpack.”

“Sure, I guess,” Eddie scoffed, scuffing his boot against the ground. “Just seems like a lot of shit to pack and unpack and re-pack for a single weekend. Buuut if you feel like doing all that by yourself, be my guest.” Leaning against the side of Steve’s car, Eddie had given him a beatific smile. 

“Well. You’ll help. Obviously,” Steve had said, slamming the trunk shut in a way that made the whole car shudder. 

“Uh. No. Didn’t I just say I wouldn’t?”

Steve had looked up, watching the way Eddie didn’t budge in his stance, arms crossed across his chest defiantly.

“Alright, fine,” Steve said between clenched teeth, “If you know so much about what to bring camping, why don’t you tell me what to bring then?” 

He reopened the trunk, gesturing to their supplies laid out before them. Eddie approached cautiously, eyes flicking between Steve and the gear like he was worried Steve would smash his hand with the trunk. 

And then he picked through all of Steve’s carefully planned supplies, pulling out all the bits he deemed unnecessary. And he had, picked apart their things until they were left with a single cooler, their sleeping bags and one tent instead of the two Steve had initially brought. 

When Steve eyed him skeptically, Eddie had sheepishly shrugged, tossing the last of the unnecessary supplies from out of Steve’s trunk. 

“We can share. It’s fine,” Eddie grunted, slamming the lid of the trunk shut and flashing Steve an unreadable look. “You don’t mind, do you?”

He'd asked it like Steve had any other option, trying to goad him into another argument. 

“Nope. We can share,” Steve said brusquely, leaning down to pick up everything Eddie had unceremoniously tossed from the back of his car. He'd walked everything back to the house, leaving it by the front door. His parents wouldn’t be home for another month, he could deal with it when he got back. In that moment, he'd just wanted to get this over with. 

And that was how they wound up with hardly anything other than the clothes on their backs, Steve fighting for his life to connect two fucking tentpoles. 

It's a slow process, but eventually he manages, somehow, to rediscover the muscle memory that many years of camping had instilled in him. He connects the poles, props the tent up, secures everything into the ground, all while trying not to think of Eddie. (And fails. Miserably.)

He tries not to think about Tommy, either, and somehow fails at that too. For some reason, Tommy remindes Steve of Eddie. Or- well, not exactly. It's more like what he felt for Tommy reminds him of the way he feels for Eddie. He doesn't want to think about why. 

For a while, Steve listens to Eddie traipsing to and from the woods a couple of times in search of more wood. By the third go, Steve has their campground more or less established, beginning to feel a little more himself. Less desperate. Or, er. Desperate in a different way. 

A new way. One less quantifiable than Steve's used to. He really fucking loathes the feeling, whatever it is. 

“Hey, uh, there’s water over there,” Eddie says, breathing a little heavier. He nods his head in the direction he’d just come from as he hauled the last of the wood back. Huge logs they would have no way of burning without the ax Steve had left at home – which, yes, also Eddie’s fault, thanks for asking. 

“What?”

“Like, a lake, or something,” Eddie explains, brushing straight past him. Eddie’s sweaty shirt is clinging to him now, like a second skin. When he pulls it up to wipe his face, Steve jerks his eyes away, heart stuttering oddly. 

“Cool. Great find,” he says, trying to sound as annoyed as he'd been twenty seconds ago. He adds, “At least they’ll know where to search for our bodies.” 

When Eddie doesn't reply, Steve plops down in the dirt next to their tent and rummages through his shit. When he finds his canteen, he takes a few long pulls, subtly watching Eddie kick one of the logs around before sitting down promptly on the makeshift stool. Oh, this is going to be good. 

Steve feigns indifference as he watches Eddie. There’s like– a zero percent chance that he'll successfully light a fire, right? He's just trying to show off. Pretend he was useful in a situation like this. 

Only, as Steve observes Eddie from a comfortable distance, he sees just how steady his movements are– all sure hands and easy motions as he assembles the kindling and breaks branches against the heel of his shoe. 

Distantly, it brings Steve back to the time Eddie hotwired the trailer. Quick, graceful. At ease with- well, not his surroundings, or his circumstances, but with the ritual of it all. He remembers Eddie muttering about his dad teaching him, and wonders if he’d been the one to teach him this, too. 

He wonders if that hurts him to remember. If Eddie is reminded of someone who's not in his life anymore every time he lights a fire. If his dad taught him other things. If the memory of his dad persists then, too. 

Then he wonders why he cares about how Eddie feels about his dad in the first place. It's not any of his business. But still, he can't help but feel like–

“Steve.”

His eyes dart up to Eddie’s face, but he’s still leaning into the barely-there fire, face close to the flames. It makes his eyes glow glossy bright in the darkness that has settled over them. 

“You just gonna sit there?" 

"Um. Yes?"

Eddie rolls his eyes. "You could help.” 

“I was helpful,” he says simply, gesturing to the tent behind him. 

“Okay. Well. I’d like to eat. So maybe you could do something more productive than watch me make the fire?”

Steve continues staring at Eddie’s profile long after he finishes speaking, still enrapt in his work.

Get a grip, he tells himself. He doesn't like you, and you don't like him.

He huffs, loudly, before pulling himself back onto two feet, heading for the cooler like he isn't already aware of what he’d find there. Which is: not much. A couple of soggy sandwiches and eight miscellaneous beers he’d stolen from the back of the fridge. He's pretty sure his dad isn't gonna miss them. 

There is a package of hotdogs – no buns, though. That had been in the spare cooler Eddie had tossed. Dick.

All that remains of the dry goods is the trail mix, a loaf of smushed bread, and a half-full jar of instant coffee. Three cans of beans that he ignores. No pot to cook them in. This would have to do. He wanted a warm meal, however pitiful it might be. 

Anything was better than sleep for dinner. 

Eddie frowns down at the supplies when Steve unceremoniously sets them at his feet, searching the pile of twigs and broken branches for something to skewer the hotdogs onto. He wordlessly hands Eddie a plastic plate, too, holding onto his own. 

But Eddie says nothing as Steve maneuvers around the fire. Says nothing as Steve hands him his own hotdog to hold over the flames, and says nothing again when they both quietly deem them cooked, and dig in. 

Dinner’s a quiet affair. They sit next to each other on the log and eat their hotdogs, staring at the fire. Steve’s finding it kind of hard to place why Robin thought this was a good idea to begin with. 

Steve watches with a kind of horrified fascination as Eddie takes another too-big bite of his hotdog, cheeks bulging as he chews open-mouthed. With a similar, yet somehow detached, kind of horrified fascination, Steve realizes a second later that it’s kind of turning him on. 

Scowling, Steve shoves the rest of his sandwich into his mouth, chewing furiously. 

Get. A. Grip. 

Swallowing, Eddie claps his hands together, none the wiser to Steve’s freaky brain. “Okay. Dishes.” 

Steve watches him grab their pitiful plastic plates. Doesn’t say anything until Eddie’s already walking towards the lake. 

Half-heartedly, he shouts, “We don’t have any soap, man.” 

“I’m just rinsing them!” Eddie shouts back. 

Rolling his eyes, Steve turns back around. Pokes the fire with a stick, maybe a little harder than necessary. 

And then suddenly, there’s a huge splash, followed by an ungodly screech. 

Steve's up and running in a second flat, rounding the corner just in time to see Eddie’s arms flailing in the water. He resurfaces with a gargled gasp.

“Son of a bitch!” Eddie yells, voice three octaves higher. 

A surprised laugh escapes Steve before he’s even fully registered what’s happened, Eddie’s screech still echoing back at them across the lake.

Eddie’s gasping and huffing, hair flat against his forehead, clothes hanging off of him pathetically as he wobbles. 

He looks fucking ridiculous. 

“Did you fall?” Steve asks, just to be a dick. 

“I hate you,” Eddie seethes as he starts clambering out of the lake. “I hate this stupid goddamn trip, what the hell are we even—“ Eddie suddenly yelps again, and goes crashing back into the lake. 

This time, Steve laughs wholeheartedly, delighted. He jogs down to the lake's edge, to help, but also to laugh at Eddie at a closer proximity. 

Eddie glares up at him like he personally asked the lake to pull him under. 

He’s also kind of pretty, despite the whole wet-cat look he’s got going on. His eyes are narrowed, but they still reflect the moonlight. Steve has to stop himself from looking too long at Eddie’s wet lips, especially when his tongue darts out as if to taste the lake water. 

And— okay, yeah, the wet clothes are kind of doing it for him too. Eddie’s shirt is thin enough to have turned kind of translucent, and Steve can just about make out the tattoos underneath. The thin outline of the dragon, smack in the middle of his chest, makes Steve’s heart skip a beat. 

“You just gonna stare at me all night, Harrington?” 

Steve startles, blinks. Feels his face warm as he throws a hasty, “Sorry,” at Eddie. 

Then, he steps cautiously onto the rocky beach and reaches for him. Without looking him in the eye, Eddie takes Steve’s proffered hand, fingers wrapped tight around his wrist, and hauls himself up. His clothes, heavy with mud and lake water, slosh as he stumbles to keep himself upright. Still, he shakes Steve off when he tries to steady him. 

There’s a moment where their eyes meet. Steve’s mouth opens to say something, anything, but the words won't come out. He closes his mouth again. And, with that, Eddie marches off, heading toward the campfire, leaving Steve standing alone by the water. 

“Eddie?” Steve tries, unsure. 

Eddie doesn’t reply. 

Steve jogs to catch up to him. 

“Hey. Eddie.” 

Even with his jaw clenched, it’s clear Eddie’s shivering. When they’re back by the fire, Eddie sits down on one of the logs and wraps his arms around himself, doing a valiant job of ignoring his soaking clothes. 

Steve feels like a kid in the supermarket, following Eddie. He stops just short of the fire. "C'mon, you should change.”

Eddie stares straight forward, jaw set, leans closer to the fire but ignores Steve outright. 

Steve stares. “Are you serious?” 

“I don’t have any spare clothes, man,” Eddie says, voice trembling with the cold. 

Steve blinks. “Why not?” 

Eddie sends him a withering glare. “I didn’t expect to go fucking swimming.” 

A crazed laugh threatens to escape Steve then, so he purses his lips. He takes a step forward, then back again. Tilts his head up to the sky and sighs. “Fuck, um. Okay. Just— you have to get out of those clothes.” 

Eddie eyeballs him. “You want me to get naked?” 

“You'll get pneumonia,” Steve says, leaning towards desperate. Fuck, Robin will actually kill him if Eddie dies out here. 

“I’m fine.” 

“This is not fine, Eddie,” Steve insists. 

“You’ll see my dick,” Eddie hisses. 

“I’m not gonna look at your stupid dick, man.” 

“My stupid dick? Why is it stupid?” 

“Just— fuck you.” Steve runs a hand down his face. “Go get naked, or whatever.” 

“Or whatever,” Eddie says under his breath, but he gets up and heads for the tent, so Steve counts it as a win. 

Steve tries not to listen to Eddie undress. To his hushed cursing, his quiet stumbling. Focuses instead on the fire, the glow of the firewood. Bites the inside of his cheek, wondering what the hell he’s doing here. 

He’s shaken out of his reverie when Eddie sighs, loud and defeated. 

“Hey, Steve?”

Steve sits up. “Yeah?” 

“I could, uh. I could use a hand.” A pause. Then, “Just– the sleeping bag. I can’t get the zipper up from the inside.” 

Curiosity piqued, Steve stands and makes his way over to the tent. He peeks inside before entering, biting his tongue not to say anything when he sees Eddie. Eddie, who is standing there forlornly, holding his sleeping bag up to his waist, chest and arms on full display. Eddie, who is fucking hot, and kind of pathetic, and also probably angry, going by the way his mouth is twisting. 

Steve clears his throat, realising he’s been staring. Eddie, whose eyes had been glued to the ground, snaps his gaze up, face still the picture of silent rage. 

“Look, just–” Eddie ducks his face, a blotchy redness spreading over his cheeks. He’s not mad, Steve realizes. He’s embarrassed. 

The downside - or upside, Steve supposes - to Eddie ducking his head, is that Steve can look at him now. Which does all kinds of things to him. 

Eddie’s skin is pale in the gentle dark. His scars, still pink and stretched thin across his chest, look soft. The inky outline of his tattoo looks delicate, and Steve bites down on the instinct to touch it. 

Swallowing, he shuffles his feet to get closer. Eddie’s somehow twisted the sleeping bag around him, meaning Steve has to walk behind Eddie to find the zipper, which is stuck right at the small of his back. Steve lets his knuckles brush Eddie’s shoulder blade. He's cold to the touch.  

Fumbling with the zipper, Steve puts his hand on Eddie’s back. Beneath his hand, Eddie’s skin erupts in goosebumps, and oh. 

Oh. 

Steve looses a shuddery breath, before giving the zipper a gentle yank. He zips Eddie up, gently guiding the sleeping bag up Eddie's body as he shuffles around until he's face-to-face with Eddie again.

He flickers his eyes up. They’re close. Really close.  

He blinks, fast. Catches the momentary look on Eddie’s face, so fleeting Steve can’t quite catch what it means. What this means. Still close.

His eyes are so wide and round, even in the dark, Steve can see the whites of them– the way they shift through an array of emotions. Surprise, alarm - panic. Then distant, careful neutrality, darting away to look anywhere but at Steve. 

Eddie clears his throat. Steve had forgotten to blink at all, only now remembering himself, eyes stinging. Blink-blink.

“Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, swaying out of his reach, and Steve tamps down on the disappointment blooming in his chest. 

Right, so. Eddie’s not– this isn’t– 

That’s fine. That’s– okay. 

Clearing his throat, Steve steps back. Avoids looking at Eddie when Eddie stares resolutely at the ground, and makes to pull the tent open again. Feels defeated. 

He half-expects Eddie not to follow him out, to stay in the tent now that he’s not clothed anymore, but when he steps out, Eddie makes a noise. Surprised, Steve turns again. 

“Outta the way,” Eddie huffs as he hops once, twice, and Steve steps back. He watches Eddie hop out of the tent, looking so ridiculous Steve immediately decides to commit it to memory and learn to draw or some shit, just so he can show Robin later. 

With all the grace of a man who has all his limbs trapped in a sleeping bag, Eddie plops down on one of the logs. Steve blinks. Decides it’s not worth it to comment, and makes to join him. 

They sit in a weird kind of companionable silence, for a long minute. Steve prods at the fire with a stick, and Eddie watches, eyelids half-shut. 

“So, um.” Steve says, finally. “What was your first girlfriend like?” 

Eddie huffs a surprised laugh. “This the kind of guy-talk I’ve been missing out on, being the town freak?” 

Before Steve can defend himself, Eddie says, “But, uh. Non-existent.” 

Steve looks up. Feels his heartbeat quicken. “What?” 

“Steve.” Eddie's already looking at him, brown eyes assessing, full mouth twitching up. “I’m gay as fuck.” 

Steve feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him. He tries to grapple with the feeling in his chest, the adrenaline, the relief, the excitement. 

Me too, he tries to say, but his lips won’t move, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. 

“Oh,” he says instead, then remembers himself. “Cool, man. I mean– thanks. For telling me.” 

A second ticks by. Two. 

And then Eddie looks away, a flash of something – disappointment? - on his face, before it's schooled back into something resembling indifference. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, voice oddly hollow. “What about you?” 

Steve pulls a hand through his hair. “There was this girl called Betty–” but whatever the hell me and Tommy had, that was bigger, that was– “And, like, we went on a few dates. We were like, twelve. I don’t know. Nothing major.” 

Humming, Eddie crosses his arms, putting his inked skin on display. Steve tries not to look, but he’s greedy, drinking Eddie in. 

His face is golden, painted by the gentle flames. Wild hair frizzy from the lake water, mouth pink and– and kissable. Fuck, Steve needs to fucking stop. 

“When’d you lose your virginity?” Eddie asks suddenly, and Steve’s mouth falls open. 

“Sixteen,” Steve answers honestly. Clears his throat. “With, um.”

With Tommy. In my backyard, while my parents were on a business trip. 

“With T– Talia. This girl I met at a summer camp.” 

For fuck’s sake. 

He runs a hand down his face, frustrated. 

“Jesus,” Eddie says, eyes wide when Steve looks up. “That bad?” 

“No, um.” Steve shakes his head, before stopping abruptly. “I mean, I guess. What– um. What about you?” 

“Pete,” Eddie sighs. Leans closer to the fire, shivering. “I was, uh. Seventeen, I think? He was nineteen." With a wry smirk, he adds, "I wasn't his first, though.” 

Steve blinks. “Oh.” 

Images of Eddie with another man appear unbidden in Steve’s mind. Vague outlines of muscled arms, of Eddie being pressed into a mattress, echoes of what he might sound like the first time someone put their mouth on him– all of it making Steve’s gut twist unpleasantly. He wonders if it even happened on a bed, or if Eddie’s many tales of his time in Indy had something to do with it. If it happened against a beer-stained wall, all rushed, heated kisses, fumbling hands slipping into hastily unzipped jeans. If any sounds he made were muffled against the neck of another. 

And then Eddie shivers again, trying to hike the sleeping bag up, and Steve shakes his head. Tries to clear his mind, embarrassed. 

“Hey, wanna turn in for the night?” Steve asks. It can’t be later than eight, but watching Eddie writhe around like a cold worm… It worries him. 

Eddie nods, blowing warm air into the sleeping bag. “Yeah,” he agrees. 

When he stands, Steve moves to help him walk again. In a fit of insanity, he takes Eddie’s hands in his presses them to his lips, blowing hot air onto them, then rubbing them quickly. Eddie’s hands are cold enough to warrant being held a moment longer, Steve figures. He only drops them when Eddie gives him a curious look, swallowing harshly. 

“Right,” Steve says, unsure. 

Getting ready for bed goes by quickly and silently. They pass the toothpaste back and forth, brushing hastily before zipping the tent up again. 

It’s only when they’re both lying down, breathing quietly in their respective sleeping bags, that Steve gathers up the courage to say something. 

“Me too, by the way,” Steve says softly. His voice sounds loud in the tent, the dark only helping to amplify it. 

“What?” 

“I like guys. Men. Me too.” 

For a second, they’re both quiet, letting his admission settle, maybe. Steve keeps his eyes on Eddie, who's staring straight up, tracing the slope of his nose, the stubble on his chin. How his eyelashes flutter in the dark. 

But then–

Eddie rolls over. Suddenly he’s so close, face only a couple inches from Steve’s. In the dark, he’s holding himself so still. He can’t be breathing, he’s so quiet. 

Steve flickers his eyes to Eddie’s lips, on purpose this time. Hears Eddie’s quiet intake of breath, the near imperceptible shift in atmosphere. 

Everything he should say is on the tip of his tongue. Reassurances, questions, confessions. Instead, Steve watches Eddie lean in, nose brushing against his. Their breaths mingle for a moment, and Steve itches to reach out, wishes the sleeping bag wasn’t currently stopping him. 

And then Eddie’s lips find Steve’s. 

Eddie kisses Steve like he might break. He applies barely any pressure, like Steve might throw him off, or something. So Steve kisses back, struggles to pull his hand out of the sleeping bag to cup Eddie’s face, thumb brushing his cheekbone. Touching him now, Steve can feel Eddie trembling. He wonders if this is as big a deal to him as it is to Steve, then quickly waves the thought away. 

Pulling back a little, Steve opens his eyes. It feels like he’s just driven a race car or something, heart pumping wildly where it sits in his ribcage. He watches Eddie open his eyes slowly, something like fear written on his face. So Steve offers him a soft smile. Leans in again to lean his forehead against Eddie’s, to let him decide. His stomach swoops when Eddie huffs a laugh, catching Steve’s mouth in a kiss again. 

Eddie’s tongue is hot when he licks tentatively at Steve’s mouth. At Steve’s pleased exhale, Eddie pulls back, eyes dark and intense. 

“Can I touch you?” he asks, voice low and breathy. 

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, inhaling sharply the second Eddie’s mouth is on him again. 

It’s only when he pulls away to zip his sleeping bag down that he realizes they’re both in cocoon prisons of their own making. 

“Fucking–“ Eddie breaks off the kiss, kicking at the sleeping bag. 

Watching him, Steve snorts in the least sexy manner possible. 

“It’s not funny,” Eddie insists. “I’m trying to have sex with you.” 

“Okay, okay,” Steve grins. “Just— here.” 

As gently as he can, he helps Eddie out of the sleeping bag. And God, Eddie's- he's naked, except for his underwear, which. How is this Steve's life. Dizzily, Steve unzips his own to throw over both of them. When he’s done, Eddie looks at him with something unreadable on his face. Something soft. 

“Thanks,” Eddie says gruffly, eyes flickering between Steve's. “I’m gonna suck your dick now. If you’re amenable.” 

Steve chokes. “Yep, yeah. Amenable, yes. I am.” 

Lips tugging up in a smirk, Eddie slips down slowly. He slides his hands down the length of Steve’s body, making goosebumps break out on his skin. His touch i so good it almost hurts, like ice on a sunburn. 

Steve’s breathing hitches when Eddie finally pushes the sleeping bag to the side to hook his fingers under Steve's briefs. And then he tugs. 

Holding his breath, Steve watches his own half-hard dick twitch under Eddie’s dark eyes. He preens a little when Eddie makes an appreciative sound. 

And then, Eddie dives right in. He doesn’t tease him, doesn’t start slow and gentle, no— he wraps his hot mouth around Steve’s cockhead and sinks down. 

“Oh, fuck—“ Steve’s eyes snap shut, cock filling out so fast it almost hurts. 

There’s not a lot of suction; Eddie seems to want to tease him in his own way, keeping his mouth slightly open. A wet, hot thing to keep Steve’s cock warm. 

Hooooly shit, okay, this is happening- 

“Eddie-” Steve manages, stomach flexing when Eddie gives a little suck, hand coming up to grip Steve’s thigh. 

This is insane, Steve thinks distantly. He’s on a camping trip with Eddie Munson, currently getting his dick sucked in a tent by Eddie Munson. 

He can’t think of a single other place he’d rather be. 

Opening his eyes again takes a long moment, too lost in how good it feels to do much else, but it’s worth it. Eddie looks sinful with his lips wrapped around Steve, eyes fluttering shut as he gasps around him, bringing a hand up to jerk him quickly as he catches his breath. He laves his tongue up Steve’s dick, meeting his gaze with an almost drunk smile, like he likes this. Like sucking Steve’s dick is something he’s been wanting. 

It could be seconds or minutes or hours later for all Steve know; Steve's on cloud fuckin' nine. He watches Eddie work his dick with heavy lids, hips twitching under Eddie's ministrations. He wants to pull him up and kiss him stupid, but he feels like that might be bad etiquette. 

“Fuck,” Steve chokes out, pleasure mounting too quickly. He slips a hand into Eddie's hair and tugs, breathing coming fast, too fast– 

“Eddie, stop, stop, I’m gonna–” 

When he tugs his hair again, harder this time, Eddie pulls off, and Steve groans at the sight of him. Eddie licks his spit-slick lips, tilting his head. 

“Something wrong?” His voice comes out gravelly, and holy shit. 

“No, shit, I just–” Steve pants, letting his head fall back. “I’m close.” 

He can’t look at Eddie when he’s looking at him like that. It’s already going to be over too fast. Embarrassingly fast. 

“Oh.” Eddie wets his lips again, stroking Steve slowly. 

He must feel the way it makes Steve's fucking leg twitch. He's still so close, and the tenor of Eddie’s voice isn’t doing anything to help. Rasping and so, so soft - like he’s just as affected by this, even though he isn’t the one getting his dick sucked within an inch of his life.

“‘S okay. Want you to cum.” 

His slick hand, the wet sound of Eddie stroking him- it’s too much.

“Not in your mouth, man,” Steve says, mumbling his words into the bunched up sleeping bag. He presses his face to it, hoping it can cool the heat flaring in his cheeks. Wishes it could capture each shaky breath as he tries to think about anything other than how Eddie sounds right now. 

“Steve.”

Anything other than how he feels right now.

“Just like–” Steve breathes out slowly, deliberately. Shuts his eyes to focus on calming down. “Let me take over. Not like I haven’t cum on myself before, it’s fine. You don’t need to–”

“Steve,” Eddie says again, voice firm. Not demanding, but insistent as the fingers of his free hand curl around Steve’s thigh.

He stops jerking him off then, and it’s enough to pull Steve back in, lift his head and look at him again. 

Which is an awful (amazing) mistake because then he’s just looking at Eddie, disheveled, eyes bright in the dark. He can just make out the flush in his cheeks, the way sweat is clinging to his brow. Lips swollen and his expression– hungry, searching. Amused.

“If you’d rather cum on yourself, that’s fine,” Eddie says slowly. “But don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, because I’m fine. And I’m offering.” A slight smile tugs at the corner of his lips when Steve’s eyes dart there.

“Enthusiastically, I might add,” Eddie says, his own eyes shifting back to where he’d started stroking Steve again. “It’s fine, either way. Just sayin’ – less clean up, and I’ll get to hear every noise when you cum down my throat. Seems like a win-win to me.”

Panting, Steve stares at him with wide eyes. The mouth on this guy, Jesus. Finally, he breathes, “Yeah, okay. Yeah. I’ll cum down your throat, man.” 

Eddie snorts. “Man,” he mocks, but Steve can’t say anything in response before Eddie’s got his cock in his mouth again. 

“Baby,” Steve says, whines, really— and Eddie keens, so he says it again. “Baby, you’re gonna make me cum.” 

Taking him deeper than he has before, Eddie chokes wetly, swallowing convulsively around him, and that does it. 

“Fuck—“ Steve gasps, “Gonna cum, baby, gonna—“ 

His orgasm hits him like a truck. Arching his back, fucking shallowly into Eddie’s mouth, Steve moans wantonly. Everything feels good: Eddie’s mouth, Eddie’s hands, his cock spitting cum down Eddie’s throat, Eddie fucking swallowing, holy shit. 

Eddie pulls off, gasping. Steve watches through hooded eyes as Eddie slips a hand into his own boxers. He pulls his dick out and makes a hurt noise in the back of his throat, jacking himself feverishly, other hand bracing on Steve’s knee. 

“Eddie–” Steve tries to sit up, nearly dislodging Eddie’s hand. 

“What?” Eddie breathes, hand not slowing. 

“C’mon, let me–” Steve reaches for Eddie, and finally, Eddie slows. Face red, lips puffy, he gives Steve a wide-eyed look. 

“You sure?” he pants. 

And Steve could make a joke. Could say he used to be popular amongst the ladies for a reason. Could wink and say reciprocation is his favorite part. But Eddie looks– fuck. He looks surprised, nervous, turned on. 

So instead, Steve swallows, mouth watering. Lets his eyes dip, before he reaches for Eddie’s wrist, so close to his cock. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I'm sure, man.” 

In the dark, Eddie falls back onto his sleeping bag and props himself up on his elbows, gaze set on Steve with a fire in his eyes. Steve’s not exactly sure how to make crawling in a tent look sexy, but he tries, and Eddie’s eyes track him so, hey, maybe he succeeds. 

On his knees by Eddie’s feet, Steve leans down. Presses his lips gently to Eddie’s knee, just below a faded scar. By his side, Steve sees Eddie’s fingers twitch. 

Sitting back up, Steve slides his hands down Eddie’s thighs. They’re still clamped together, and it’s with a shaky breath Steve squeezes lightly, asking silently for permission. Flickering his eyes back up, he watches Eddie nod minutely. 

So, heart fluttering, Steve pulls Eddie’s legs apart. Makes a small noise without realising it, because– fuck. Eddie’s beautiful. 

He gets his first look at him, spread out in front of Steve, for Steve. Everything else Steve's ever experienced with another guy has been unseen hands, hidden movements in the dark. Fast, unfocused. Definitely didn’t linger. Couldn’t really.

But here Eddie is, dick flushed pink where it brushes against his thigh. Leaking, and leaning a little to the right, and Steve tries to take everything in, tip to base. The way he's darker at the head, gradually shifting, everything leading down into a thistle of dark, untrimmed hair. 

The first thought that bubbles into Steve’s brain is that Eddie doesn’t look how he was expecting him to look. But it’s like he can already hear Eddie’s response without even vocalizing it – you think about my dick often, Steve?

He pushes the thought away, tries to clear his head in favor of any real thought because Eddie’s still there. Still waiting for him to reach out and touch. Hard for him, making those sounds for him. 

Eddie’s breath catches when Steve bends down. Hesitantly reaches out to slide his fingers into Steve’s hair. For a moment, Steve wonders what it would be like to press his cheek into the thick hair between Eddie’s legs. Rub his nose into it, breathe him in. He ghosts his breath over Eddie’s cock, looking up only once to catch Eddie’s wide eyes and parted mouth. 

And then he takes him in hand, squeezing unsurely. Eddie’s cock is silky and blood-warm, twitching in Steve’s hand, which, Jesus Christ, Steve is so into him. 

Steve’s so overcome with the feeling he leans over Eddie, who’s stiff beneath him, and nudges his nose against his. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, lips twitching. 

Eddie huffs a laugh. “Hey.” 

Steve catches his mouth in a gentle kiss. Feels Eddie inhale against his mouth, like he wasn’t expecting a kiss, and smiles against him. He pulls away to press his forehead to Eddie’s, chest full of excitement. 

He feels like he’s going to combust, limbs still shaky from his own orgasm. He was about to get Eddie off too, was literally seconds away from getting his mouth on him, about to pull all those noises Steve lived for out of him. 

“Need some encouragement?” Eddie asks, running a hand down Steve’s spine, making him shiver. Goosebumps.

Steve nods against his cheek, huffing out a laugh of his own where Eddie can't see him. He rubs against his skin like a cat, ducking to place featherlight kisses down Eddie's chest. 

“Maybe a bit,” Steve mumbles into the divot where Eddie’s ribs meet, close to where he can feel his heart pounding in time with Steve’s.

The hand on his back shifts over his shoulder, fingers warm against the back of his neck. Gently pressing. 

“Alright, well. Not to sound desperate but– you, uh, you could start with your hand? I'm kind of losing my mind here." 

“This is you not sounding desperate?” Steve asks, grinning like a fool.

“Oh, I’m absolutely desperate for this right now, you kiddin’ me?” 

Steve shuffles until he’s back between Eddie’s legs, letting his voice make the worst of the nerves subside, smoothing him out. He holds himself upright over Eddie, eyes flicking down to where he was still hard, waiting for him to touch him. 

“This is like– better than any wet dream I’ve ever had,” Eddie says, laughing softly as Steve’s fingers gently wrapped around the top of his thigh. Ticklish, maybe. Maybe just nervous.

“Really?” Steve asks, squinting back up at him dubiously.

Eddie nods, huffing a laugh. 

“Must be some pretty tame wet dreams, then. I haven’t even done anything to you yet,” Steve murmurs. He inches his hand forward, gently spreading Eddie open for him again.

“Is that a threat or a promise?" Eddie twitches beneath him. "Because, honestly, you’re just making this worse. Er, better. You know what I mean,” Eddie says, mouth running, muscles going tense as Steve slides his other hand up the length of his thigh. 

Lets his thumb dip into the junction of Eddie’s thigh, pressing down there. Soft muscles flexing against his touch. He doesn't look at his cock again, suddenly bashful about the daunting task ahead. He feels his cheeks flame, matching the heat of Eddie’s skin burning under his hand.

“It’s definitely a promise to try,” Steve mutters, unsure of himself. Where to go, where to put his hands. How fast he should move, if he should close his eyes or make eye contact. Wonders what, exactly, the protocol is. Like a total virgin. 

His eyes flick up again when Eddie shifts, one hand reaching out to knock his knuckles gently against his chin. Another smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and this time, Steve returns the smile easily.

“Just want to make you feel good,” he says, voice softer than he’d meant for it to come out. 

“It’ll be good,” Eddie promises, words light. 

Steve sinks lower, angling himself between Eddie’s knees, hand sliding down to just– fuck, okay, he’s wrapping his hand around his dick.

“And if it’s, you know. Too much, or– or–”

“You think I can’t take it?” Steve asks, smirking despite the situation.

“Flattering, but no, I meant– fuck, okay, Jesus,” he says, sucking in a breath as Steve’s head ducks, mouth hovering over the head of his dick. 

“Hm?”

“If it’s– shit, if it’s too much, that’s okay,” Eddie says, another stuttering breath that makes his stomach flex, muscles twitching as Steve’s tongue dips out, wetting his lips. “I can just- take care of it myself, promise. No big deal.”

It’s easier to move, to keep going when Eddie’s talking to him like this. He barely has time to register the expression on Eddie's face before Steve’s letting his fingers curl around him, impossibly hot in his hand. 

He knows plenty about this part, enough, anyway, to let saliva pool in his mouth. He lets go of Eddie to spit into his palm, making that first tentative slide of his fist around Eddie’s cock go silk-smooth. Feels the resolve to show Eddie a better than subpar time settling along his teeth. 

Eddie’s mouth is still moving, words fumbling as he tries to sound unaffected when Steve starts stroking him. 

“Anything will be great, honestly. Plenty of options– you could just jerk me off, or– or I could jerk me off. Could s-sit on your thighs, cum on your ass.” 

Steve lets out a shaky breath, watching the way his hand glides up and down, Eddie’s skin hot under his touch. Feels the way Eddie twitches beneath him, and it makes him want to move closer.

“Shit, you don’t even have to touch me, I could just– you could watch?” Eddie pants. “Just sit there and look pretty, that’d be perfectly–”

Steve ducks his head catching the tip of Eddie's cock with his tongue, riding a burst of courage he hopes he can maintain. He tastes salty skin, licks precum off his lip, listening to the punched-out noise Eddie makes.

“Fuck. Or that,” Eddie hisses, thigh nudging against Steve’s side as he nearly buckles beneath him. 

“Eddie.” Eddie looks at him. “I’m gonna suck your dick.” 

Their eyes meet, and Steve’s hand stills. A pause, an understanding passing between them as they both catch their breath.

“Yeah. Okay,” Eddie breathes.

He can just barely make out the red spreading across Eddie’s chest, blooming out toward his pert nipples. Steve looks away, back to the task at hand. Smooths his hand back down his cock, holding him still as he takes another tentative taste, tongue darting out. Skin smooth under his tongue. 

He gets him in his mouth, gradually, letting his tongue slide along the vein he feels running down the length of him. He shuts his eyes, trying to focus on how hot he is in his mouth. The way Eddie’s words get caught in his throat, swallowing around whatever noise he’d been about to make. 

He knows he won’t be able to get all of him down, no way – even Steve’s not that brave. But he uses his fist as a buffer, spit escaping his mouth and pooling around his fingers in a way that should be gross, but only serves to aid him as he pulls back up, sucking off the tip with a borderline obscene pop. 

And, okay, one successful go does not a king of sucking dick make, but Steve feels a small swell of pride when he hears the slow exhale Eddie finally lets out, a curse hissed through his teeth. 

“Good?” Steve asks, searching.

Eddie nods, almost endearingly fast. 

“Uh-huh, yep,” he manages, voice thin and reedy. 

Steve takes a deep breath before dipping his head again, tongue circling the head as he sinks down lower. Squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on the movement of his tongue, the suction of his mouth. Bobs his head once, twice. 

Nearly chokes when gets a bit too enthusiastic, feeling Eddie slip through the tight ring at the back of his throat - air momentarily cut off. 

He knows he’s not exactly a natural – he's received enough blowjobs in his life to know – but he wants to be good at this. Wants to do this again and again until he learns everything Eddie likes. 

“Hey,” Eddie says, voice soft. He waits for Steve to look up before he continues. “You’re doing fine. Just relax.” 

Steve tries, exhaling through his nose. When Eddie scratches his scalp, he feels his eyes flicker shut. His shoulders come down as he tries again. Eddie’s just– he’s big in his mouth, and it’s so different– good different, but still. 

He’s never been one to shy away from a challenge, though. So, with renewed vigor, Steve dives back in. Or rather, down. 

Sick, he thinks. I’m sucking a dick. 

And then, giddily, I’m sucking Eddie’s dick. Go me. 

It’s completely new. The taste, the texture, the weight of Eddie on his tongue. The taste, he thinks he could get used to. He likes the way it rolls over his tongue, how unique and musky it is. It makes him want to get closer, press open-mouthed kisses to Eddie’s inner thigh to taste his sweat and skin, to leave a landslide of gentle bruises there, to claim him as his own. 

The texture is kind of weird. It’s just so obviously a dick, which like, yay, but also, woah. The way Eddie’s breathing though, slow and shallow like he’s trying to control himself– that more than anything does it for Steve. 

“Jesus, your fuckin’ mouth,” Eddie laughs, strangled. He grips Steve’s hair tighter, moaning when Steve takes him a little deeper. Beneath Steve’s fingers, Eddie’s stomach flexes. 

“You can– you can use your hand,” Eddie suggests, and goes breathless the second Steve squeezes him more firmly around the lower half of his cock that’s not enveloped in his mouth. 

He sucks in a sharp breath when Steve bobs his head down, a little more confidently now, and lets his hand follow suit. It’s not so hard– Steve’s always been pretty damn good at coordination. Finding a rhythm only takes a minute. 

It’s hard to look away from Eddie once he’s started. Is it weird to stare soulfully at your friend while sucking his dick? Steve doesn’t really care. 

Eddie’s making these sounds, low and rough and so fucking sexy. Steve can taste him on his tongue, the tell-tale saltiness of pre, a heady feeling. A powerful one. Knowing you’ve made someone hard and wet. 

“Feels like heaven,” Eddie’s saying breathlessly, making Steve’s toes curl. “Jesus Christ, look at you. Your mouth, baby.” 

Making a soft, wounded sound, Steve swallows around Eddie. Squeezes his hand around him before he resumes jerking him off, trying to keep his tongue flat as he sinks down. He flickers his eyes up just in time to catch the surprised look on Eddie’s face before his hands tighten in his hair. 

“I’m gonna cum–” Eddie gasps. “Baby, can I– in your mouth, please—” 

Nodding, Steve inhales sharply through his nose and swallows convulsively. 

It happens so fast Steve barely has time to hold his breath. Hot cum hits the back of Steve’s throat, and he chokes, and he fights to keep his eyes open. The hands in his hair tighten as Eddie hunches over him, hips twitching up into Steve’s mouth. 

Eddie cums like it hurts, face screwed up as he moans, long and surprised, almost. 

The second he loosens his grip on Steve’s hair, he starts trying to tug him up. Steve finds himself surprised that he’s kind of annoyed about it– he wants to stay down here. He wants to lay his head on Eddie’s thigh and soak this moment up forever. 

“C’mon, up, up, don’t suffocate yourself, man,” Eddie pants. 

So, with a soft sigh, Steve lets Eddie’s cock fall out of his mouth, along with a mouthful of cum. 

(Like hell was he swallowing all that on his first go. Next time.) 

Steve blinks, a little surprised, when Eddie presses his lips to Steve’s forehead, stroking down the back of his neck with a shaky hand almost like he’s petting him. He presses little kisses all the way down Steve’s face until he reaches the corner of his mouth, at which point he’s grinning almost too wide to kiss him. 

Eyes wide and unusually earnest, Eddie catches his mouth in a gentle kiss. Steve smiles dopily into it, heart soaring. 

I did it, he thinks. I made him happy. 

And then, I just need to make him cum and he’ll kiss me like he loves me. 

“Okay,” Eddie murmurs as he pulls back, mirth crinkling his eyes. “Okay, let's get you cleaned up.” 

He reaches blindly behind himself, and grabs for whatever article of clothing he finds first. Steve lets his eyes flutter shut as Eddie swipes the shirt across the lower half of his face gently, dabbing it down his neck just a touch too tender not to mean anything. 

It’s only once Eddie’s tossed the soiled shirt away that it occurs to him. 

“That was… My only shirt.”

At first, Eddie’s hesitant to wrap his arms around Steve. It’s like he’s not sure he’s allowed to, which just… Sucks. He melts into it, though, when Steve shoves his nose into the crook of Eddie’s neck, flopping down half on top of him. 

They wake up even more tangled up, somehow. Eddie’s practically wrapped himself around Steve like a koala. 

It’s so cute Steve thinks his heart might explode. 

They spend the morning trading lazy kisses back and forth, despite Eddie’s initial hesitation. It’s like he still thinks he’s not allowed, like he and Steve are still… Enemies, or something. Which– come on, they traded blowjobs, surely that makes them at least friends? 

With no clothes left, and- well, the tension diffused (just maybe not in the way Robin had anticipated) they decide it’s time to leave. They take their time packing up, opting to skip breakfast (they did not learn their lesson) to grab something on the way back home. 

“What’re you doing tomorrow?” Steve asks through a mouthful of peanuts. They’re on the highway now, only forty minutes to go before they’re back home. 

“Got work at the garage,” Eddie replies, and Steve stops chewing. 

From the side, Eddie looks tense. His shoulders are drawn up, his face oddly neutral, and he’s staring resolutely out of the window. Despite literally only being in a sleeping bag, Eddie looks very stoic. 

“Oookay,” Steve says, eyeballing him. “What about the day after? Or, like, the weekend?” 

“Not sure.” He keeps his eyes on the window. “Why?” 

Reaching over to snag the m&m’s out of the cup holder, Steve says, “Because I’m taking you out.” 

Eddie makes a noise of distress. “Like— killing me?” 

“What the fuck? No?” 

Eddie draws in a short breath. Stays quiet for a long moment. “Uh, so. You’re– this– us? We’re… We’re doing this?” 

Surprised, Steve laughs. “Um, duh. I– Eddie, last night was…” 

He clears his throat, cheeks warming. Glancing at Eddie, he can see red creeping his throat too. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, voice low. 

“Yeah,” Steve echoes. “So, if you’re amenable…” 

Eddie flickers his eyes to him. “You want a repeat?” 

“I was thinking I could take you on a date.” 

Eddie doesn’t say anything, which– okay, Steve’s not the best at communicating, but he wants to do this right. So, without another word, he flicks the blinkers on and pulls into the side of the road. 

When he’s parked, he turns to look at Eddie and his big eyes. “So? What do you say?” 

“You want to date me,” Eddie says, almost accusingly. 

“Yeah?” Steve says, shifting in his seat. 

“I–” Eddie laughs, high-pitched and short. “I think I’m concussed.” 

“Is that a no?” 

“Shit, no, it’s– it’s a yes, Steve.” Eddie's nervous hand finds Steve’s thigh. Voice softer, he adds, “I– yeah, I wanna date you.” 

They stare at each other for a moment, and Steve wonders how he didn’t see it before. Eddie’s beautiful. His soft mouth, his rugged edges, his wild hair. He wants to wrap him up and keep him forever, wants to cook for him and wash his hair and fuck him, he wants, wants, wants. 

Finally breaking their weird staring contest, Eddie snatches the m&m’s back and tosses a handful back. When Steve pouts, Eddie leans over the console and grabs Steve’s chin, thumbing at his bottom lip. 

Steve lets his mouth fall open without even thinking about it, and Eddie presses his mouth to Steve’s, licking into him with his tongue, and– slipping an m&m in. 

Pulling back dazedly, Steve asks, “Did you just feed me an m&m with your mouth?” 

Eddie nods sagely. “Like a bird.” 

Steve thinks one day he might reference this exact moment at their wedding. He wraps that thought in a pretty bow and stows it away for later, offering Eddie a look of disgruntled affection instead, before pulling him into another kiss. 

They make it back to Hawkins without further incident (see: Eddie trying to feed Steve like a bird), and pull into Eddie’s driveway right around lunchtime. 

Steve’s thinking about the logistics of carrying Eddie inside when he spots Robin sitting on Eddie’s front steps, sandwich in hand. 

Eddie shoots him a questioning look, and Steve shrugs. 

The second they’re parked, Robin stomps up to them. Warily, Steve steps out of the car, mouth already open to say something, but she beats him to it. 

“Hello, Steven,” she says, eyes flashing. Eddie cracks his door open too, valiantly hopping out in the sleeping bag. Robin eyeballs him. “Hello, Edward.” 

“Hi,” Eddie says. 

“What are you doing here?” she asks. 

“Um,” Steve hesitates, eyes darting to Eddie. “We just, we ran out of–” 

“The better question is, what are you doing here?” Eddie asks. 

Robin waves the question away with a disgruntled noise. “Wayne and I are friends. We play chess together. Now, back to my question.” 

Eddie blinks a couple of times, chewing that piece of information over, and Steve realises he’s going to be of no help. 

“We just– Eddie fell into, like, a river, and we didn’t have any spare clothes, and it got cold and–” 

Robin squawks. “Excuses! I’m sick of trying to get you two to get along. You couldn’t even go two nights without fighting? Seriously? God!” She turns, tearing at her hair, before whirling on them again. “And why is your shirt inside out, Steve? And why is Eddie in a sleeping bag? And why are you back so early! And—“ 

She pauses, eyes flickering between the two of them, anger slowly draining from her face. Her eyes land on a spot near Eddie’s shoulder, where Steve left a hell of a love bite, and her mouth falls open. 

“Oh. Oooh.” Hand coming up to cover her mouth, she says, “You’re joking.” 

Steve sidles a little closer to the car door. 

Robin gasps. “Oh my God, you— Steve!” 

Before she can tackle him, Eddie cuts in. 

“Where’s my uncle?” 

Robin snaps her gaze to him. “He’s at Laura’s. Eating her casserole.” 

“I bet he is,” Eddie says darkly. 

“This is not about–” Robin does a little spin, before finally stopping. “Okay. Okay, sure, my best friends are– having sex,” she hisses. “Oh my God.” 

For the first time, Steve feels a little nervous. “Is that… Cool?” 

Immediately, Robin rolls her eyes. “Of course it’s cool, dingus. I just– I thought you hated each other, but no, it was just– ugh.” 

“Sexual tension,” Eddie suggests. 

Steve cackles. “Sexual tension,” he agrees. 

Heaving a sigh like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, she fights off a smile. “Please go get dressed. I’m gonna wait for Wayne out here, so we can play chess out here.” 

“Good idea,” Eddie says quickly, and Steve purses his lips around a smile. 

All in all, Steve thinks, it was a pretty damn good camping trip.