Chapter Text
Gif Originally posted by rebel-robin
On a quieter-than-usual summer weekday at the Starcourt Mall, Steve Harrington looks even more sullen than he usually does while slinging ice cream samples from behind the counter at Scoops Ahoy. As one of his closest friends, you’re well aware of the usual reasons for Steve’s insufferable moping—shitty job, shitty parents, shitty sex life—but today, something about the lifeless droop to his eyes indicates there’s something else going on.
“What happened to you, Harrington?” you ask, pulling off your work cap as you walk into the ice cream parlor.
Steve looks up at you from the cash register, but he glances down to resume counting cash in lieu of his usual greeting of a smile. You frown. During your part-time shifts at The Great Cookie, you typically spend your fifteen minute work breaks visiting with Steve and Robin—ergo, teaming up with Robin to poke fun at Steve. It’s all in good fun, though, and Steve typically matches your jests with some good-natured teasing of his own.
Not today, though. “I’m not in the mood to hang out today, Y/N,” Steve grumbles—a sound not uncharacteristic for him, yet somehow even grumblier than usual.
You ignore him, sauntering through the empty parlor and propping your elbows against the glass counters above the ice cream tubs. “What? Drop another banana boat on a customer?”
Steve winces, likely at the memory of the aforementioned fumble from last week, still avoiding your eyes. “Okay, first of all, Gretchen Jarrell totally made me spill her order on purpose so she could complain to my manager and get her ice cream for free.”
A voice chimes in from behind the window to the parlor’s back room. “I’d pay good money to watch you drop another banana boat down Gretchen Jarrell’s cleavage again, Steve.”
“Shut up about it, Robin!” Steve hollers back at his coworker. He turns to speak to you again. “And second of all, I told you I’m not in the mood, so can’t you find somewhere else to loom today?”
“No way,” you protest. “Where else would I go on my break?”
“I dunno. A table at the food court. The Gap. Take a lap around JCPenney for all I care. Just not here.”
“Not until you tell me what the hell’s got your panties all twisted up,” you say, leaning further over the glass counter to flick his shoulder. Steve grimaces and held his arm, glaring at you.
“Ow,” he hisses. “And don’t say panties. Who says panties? That’s gross.”
“You’re such a baby.” You aren’t about to take no for an answer. You like hanging out with Steve, and you know he likes hanging out with you, too. You and Steve have known each other for years all throughout high school—through the likes of Tommy H. and Carol, both of whom you’d effectively de-friended a few months ago, similar to Steve. But it wasn’t until you and Steve got summer jobs at Starcourt this summer that you started becoming close friends, along with Robin Buckley, who you used to play trumpet with in middle school.
Before you can pester Steve further about his sour mood, a group of teenagers come in, donning shopping bags and giggling loudly. Steve’s face suddenly contorts, his eyes shifting right and left as if he were scouring the parlor for a way out. It was too late, though, and the girls flit up to the counter, a wash of bright colors and perfume. You shifted down the counter to give them space, leaning against the side wall and watching.
“Hi, Steve,” one of the girls, red curls ablaze, says in a mock-flirtatious voice.
“H–hi,” he stammers back.
“Aren’t you gonna ask me what I want to order? Or are you bad at this job, too?” the girl at the front croons, and all the girls behind her titter with laughter. Something about the way she emphasized this job piqued your curiosity. Same as Robin, who peeks out from the window confusedly and meets your gaze. You just shrug.
Steve was starting to turn red at the cheeks. “I–yeah–what can I get for you?”
The red-headed girl taps a manicured finger to her chin and pretends to peruse the tubs of ice cream. “Hmm… I’ll take a scoop of sugar plum, please.”
Steve scans the ice cream flavors in the refrigerated display counter, his whole body fraught with tension. “Sugar plum? Uh…I don’t think we have—”
“What’s the matter?” another girl says, sneering. “Can’t find it, Steve?”
The gaggle of girls bursts into full-on laughter now. Your mouth falls open in disbelief, as does Robin’s. Steve, however, just closes his eyes in humiliation.
“Maybe you need some lessons, Steve,” Redhead drawls, smacking her gum.
“Yeah,” another pipes up. “Wouldn’t wanna leave any more girls feeling disappointed.”
“Oh, my, god,” Robin whispers, her mouth still agape. Realization starts sinking in for you: they’re not talking about ice cream.
“Alright, alright, joke’s over,” Steve all but growls at the girls. They don’t need to be told twice; their work here is seemingly done. Still laughing at Steve, they mosey out of the parlor, gone just as soon as they came.
“Oh my god,” Robin repeats. Steve’s jaw is set and his mouth pressed into a hard line as he watches the door where the girls departed.
“Steve…” you begin. “What did you do?”
“Can we just drop this?” Steve sighs.
“Drop it?” Robin says, emerging through the kitchen doors. “Steve. Those girls just came in here and announced to the world, by means of a cryptic ice cream metaphor, that you are bad at sex. We’re not gonna let that one go so easily.”
“I’m not bad at sex, Robin!” Steve barks. Robin just raises an eyebrow.
“Those girls seem to think otherwise,” you tell him. “Did she really ask you for sugar plum ice cream?” You snort, and Robin bites her lip in an attempt not to smile. You and Robin share a look and start giggling, but the daggers shooting from Steve’s eyes effectively silence your laughter, and you immediately feel a little bad.
“Can we just get back to work already and pretend like this never happened?” Steve pleaded.
“Absolutely not,” Robin says. “I implore you, Steve, to share with the class who exactly it was—among your numerous female conquests as of late,” she adds sarcastically, “that you seem to have disappointed oh so dearly?”
Steve opens his mouth to protest but, with a heaving sigh, he says, “Fine. I’ll tell you. But for starters, I don’t even know those girls, or why they knew about…about…”
“…about how bad you are at sex?” I guess.
“I’m not bad at sex!!” he insists again. “It’s just…I’m just… I’m… Maybe I’m not so good at…”
You and Robin stare at him, unblinkingly, waiting.
“…at a certain…element…of sex…maybe.”
Now it’s your turn to say, “Oh, my, god.” It was all making sense. The sugar plum innuendo, the can’t find it joke, and leaving girls disappointed…
Steve Harrington—King Steve Harrington, Steve “The Hair” Harrington, Steve-Who-Any-Girl-In-Her-Right-Mind-Wanted-To-Bang-In-High-School Harrington, your friend Steve Harrington…
…Steve Harrington, your secret crush—something you would never admit to anyone in a million years and have a hard time admitting to even yourself…
…is, evidently, bad at oral sex.
“Can you please stop saying that?!” Steve pleads, just as Robin was about to say “oh my god” again. “You two are so obnoxious, I knew I never should have said anything—”
“Okay, okay,” you say. “I’m sorry, okay? Robin and I are sorry for laughing. Robin, tell Steve we’re sorry.”
“We’re sorry, Steve.” Robin’s wide eyes flit over to you for the briefest of moments, and you’re all of a sudden transported back to your middle school days, passing notes and exchanging glances with Robin and trying not to giggle in the middle of band class.
“Whatever,” he mutters.
You study him. He somehow looks even more dejected than he had a few moments ago. Every one of his features seems to be drooping. Even his hair —or what you could see of it poking out from his “Scoops Ahoy” hat—looks like it’s drooping.
“It’s just that we were…a bit surprised,” you explain.
At least, you felt surprised. Robin, in turn, chortles. “I’m not surprised, not one bit, that our friend Suave Steve here doesn’t know where the clit is—”
“Ahhh-t-t-t-t,” he hisses and waves a hand vehemently to cut her off. “I know where the—where the clit is, Robin! Will you stop ridiculing me? I swear to god, I will leave right now. This day absolutely sucks ass already, and I don’t need your shitty sense of humor to make it worse for me.”
The humor of the situation dissipates, leaving pity—and a touch of curiosity—in its wake. “I’m sorry those girls came in here like that,” you say genuinely.
“Yeah,” Robin agrees. “Jokes aside, that was…decidedly uncool of them. Who were they anyway?”
Inexplicably, Steve droops even more, hanging his head low. “Friends of Lisa R.’s,” he mopes.
Back in town for summer vacation from Notre Dame, Lisa R. is the latest subject of Steve’s romantic interest for the past few weeks. Having graduated from Hawkins High in the class just before yours and Steve’s, Lisa R. is older than the two of you by a year—and thus way out of Steve’s league, or so he insisted every time she came up in conversation and you urged Steve to ask her out. Last you’d heard from Steve about Lisa R. was that she agreed to see a movie with him over the weekend. Steve had been over the moon when he told you about it during your shift break last Friday—three days earlier.
“Steve,” you say. “What happened with you and Lisa R.?”
“Idon’twannatalkaboutit,” he mumbles.
“Spill, now,” Robin commands. “We’re not gonna stop pestering you about this until you do.”
“I—okay,” he gives in, looking around the store curtly although it’s completely devoid of customers again. “On Friday, I asked her to the movies Saturday night, right? We—”
“Which movie?” Robin cuts him off.
Steve gapes at her. “Does it matter?”
“Pertinently.”
“Fine, if you must know… We saw The Goonies.”
“The Goonies?! Steve!” Robin chides. “You took Lisa R. on a movie date to go see The Goonies? You’ve got to be kidding me.” She throws her hands to her head. “You’re hopeless. He’s hopeless, Y/N.”
“It’s a Steven Spielberg! It looked like a good movie!”
Knowing Steve’s inexplicable proclivity to befriend literal children, you want to make a joke about Steve not being able to resist a film about a band of preteen misfits. But you bite your tongue. “Back to the point,” you say, “how did the date go, Steve?”
“Believe it or not,” he starts, glaring pointedly at Robin, “It went good. Like, really good. Lisa R. said I was cool.” He starts to beam in excitement, but his smile falters. “The movie let out pretty late, so we went in my car after to talk, and, I dunno, hang out.”
He hesitates, and Robin urges him on with a circular motion of her hand.
“Anyway, things start to get, uh, pretty heated…” Steve’s skin reddens almost imperceptibly, except you notice in a heartbeat. You always notice. “And it’s going pretty well, until she…she asks me…”
“Spit it out,” Robin berates him. “Until she asks what, Steve?”
“God, will you just let me explain at my own goddamn pace? She asked me to…to go down on her.” Steve chokes out the words as if they were stuck in his throat. “And, uh…I guess I’d never really done that to a girl before. So I didn’t really know what…” Then, almost like he realizes his surroundings for the first time, Steve glances between you and Robin mortifyingly. “What am I doing? Why am I telling you two about my most embarrassing sexual encounter to date? Jesus Christ…”
You wish he wouldn’t feel so sheepish talking to you and Robin about these kinds of topics, but you can understand why he does. Two pretty girls interrogating the hell out of him after he’d just been publicly humiliated by Lisa R.’s friends? You’d feel embarrassed, too.
You exchange a look with Robin, determining she’s thinking roughly the same thing. “Hey, we won’t tell anyone,” you reassure him.
“Yeah, your secret’s safe with us,” Robin adds.
Steve crinkles his nose, which you can’t help but find infuriatingly adorable. “Man, as if that even fucking matters anymore. Lisa R.’s already gone and told all her friends about how bad it was. Fuck,” he curses, ripping his hat off and running his hand through his hair. “This is so bad. My reputation is ruined. The whole town probably knows about it by now.”
“Um, probably not the whole town,” Robin consoles. “My parents haven’t caught wind of it yet, probably. Or Mr. Mundy the math teacher, it’s possible he doesn’t know—”
“You know what I mean,” Steve groans in exasperation.
You purse your lips, mulling over everything you’d just heard. Frankly, you’re more than a little shocked to learn that Steve Harrington, former king of Hawkins High and notoriously popular among the girls of every grade, had never gone down on a girl before.
Not even Nancy Wheeler, you realize with a start, his long-term girlfriend. Poor Nancy. But you regret that thought only a millisecond after thinking it. A man was more than his sexual ability, and as far as you could tell from getting to know him this summer, Steve was probably a pretty great boyfriend, all things considered. Especially after he grew up a bit and ended his friendship with Tommy H. and Carol like you had.
Regardless of it all, it’s clear that Steve’s ego got bruised from the whole experience, badly. You feel bad for Steve that his first experience with going down on a girl was with someone so immature as to go and gossip to her friends afterward about how bad it was—and for them to show up here where he works, just to make him feel even worse about it. Lisa R. sounds like an absolute bitch to you, same as her friends. Steve deserved better for that first experience…someone patient, someone willing to express her desires and guide him in the right direction.
Knowing Steve now—knowing his energy, his personality, his eagerness to impress the women he likes—you wonder how bad it could have actually been for Lisa R. Experience level aside, enthusiasm was half the battle, and you imagined Steve Harrington had enough of that to spare. He couldn’t have been that bad…
Then again, what could you possibly know about any of this? You’d only been in two flings before, and neither of those boys had particularly wowed you in the oral sex department.
As you are preoccupied by your thoughts, Robin and Steve have begun to vex each other again. “But the bigger question is, why are you so concerned about your stupid reputation?” Robin was saying. “You’re graduated now, Steve. There are better things to worry about.”
“Oh, sorry, you’re right, I’ll just suck it up and ignore the group of Lisa R.’s friends who just came in here and humiliated me in public for everyone to hear.”
“Literally no one else was in the store except for me and Y/N.”
“It’s the principle of it!” Steve exclaims. “Besides, that’s easy for you to say, coming from someone who doesn’t give a shit about anyone else’s opinions. And by the time you graduate, you’ll probably be well on your way out of Hawkins, on some kind of fancy nerd scholarship for being a multilingual, musically-talented band geek—”
You glance at your watch. “Shit. I have to go. My break’s over.”
Steve groans. “Don’t leave me here with just her, Y/N,” he says, jabbing his head toward Robin, who just sneers.
“Lighten up, dingus. You know you like being entertained by me.”
You throw your work cap back over your hair. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
The pair resume bickering without saying goodbye, but as you depart the parlor, you can’t help but glance back at Steve as he argues animatedly with Robin. He glances up at you for the briefest moment with those sad puppy eyes, and your stomach gives a little tug as a thought emerges:
You won’t be able to do much to restore King Steve Harrington’s reputation, but there is something you can do to help repair his ego.
————————————————
It’s a crazy thought—foolish, unhinged, and presumptuous—but it’s a thought you can’t stop thinking about for the whole day and most of your night. You really should just let it go, let Steve get over the whole Lisa R. thing and move on. But that single, crazy thought has completely permeated every inch of your mind.
The thought that you could teach Steve Harrington how to go down on a girl.
At first, the thought presented itself as a fantasy, more or less, that you kept replaying in your brain as the second half of your shift that day dragged on and on. Despite the knowledge that Steve was admittedly horrendously inexperienced, you found yourself fixated on the mental image of…of Steve perched in between your legs, his arms wrapped around your thighs, his mouth—
God, this needs to stop. I’m at work.
As the day progressed and you finally went home for the evening, the fantasy progresses, too, until it becomes less of a fantasy and more of a hypothetical notion. What if you did make a…proposition, for Steve? How would you even go about it? Hey, I know you mentioned the other day you were bad at oral sex, so why don’t you give it a go on me and I’ll give you some pointers? Gag.
But would that really be such an outlandish proposal? Steve could certainly benefit from it, in more ways than one. He would gain experience, learn more about the elusive subtleties of the female body. In turn, he could mend his ego after such a disastrous experience with Lisa R. Not to mention, you realize with a laugh, you’d also be doing a service for all the girls to come after Lisa R., after you, by teaching him what it takes to pleasure a woman correctly. Plus, Steve’s a boy. You were basically offering him free, no-strings-attached sex. What’s not for him to like?
But were there really no strings attached? You’re not willing quite yet to fully consider that.
What would be in it for you? The obvious answer is, well…the deed itself. You’ve never actually come from a guy going down on you before, and frankly, you’re curious to know what it’s like. Assuming Steve did agree to practice going down on you, the obvious benefit to you as the recipient of said act was the potential for a world of pleasure. By Steve Harrington, no less, the boy you’ve been trying and failing to talk your way out of crushing on all summer.
But Steve is your friend. If he went through with your proposition and didn’t succeed at repairing his ego (Worst Case Scenario #1)—or, worse, if he outright rejected your proposition altogether (Worst Case Scenario #2)—your friendship may never go back to the way it is now.
And all of it hinges greatly on one small detail: whether Steve could see you in that way, in a sexual way, or if his friendship with you is strictly platonic. The way things are now between the two of you, it’s hard to tell. He doesn’t act nervous or jittery around you the way he does around the cute girls who come into the ice cream parlor while he’s working. And while he’s always been friendly toward you, offering a lopsided smile nearly every time he sees you, it’s always been only that—just a smile. Not looking your body up and down, no sultry smirking, nothing glaringly obvious to indicate that he’s ever thought of you in that way.
Despite all the potential ways for this to completely derail your friendship, your fantasy-turned-hypothetical-notion begins to morph into a plan. You decide you’ll test the waters with Steve, gauge his interest—both in you and in learning from you. The plan involves getting Steve to hang out with you after work, which is something you and he have only done once before. And it was with Robin, in which the three of you had picked out a movie from Family Video to watch at Robin’s parents’ home. Would Steve think it’s weird if you ask him to hang out after work?
If you never try, you’ll never know.
The following day, you return to Scoops Ahoy once again on your shift break. Steve’s mopiness has evolved into a general aloofness toward his menial job, evidenced by the halfhearted way he wipes down the glass windows at the front of the store.
Sitting at your favorite bench and licking the scoop of complimentary ice cream you’d haggled from Robin (in exchange for a free cookie at The Great Cookie), you watch Steve clean the windows, calculating your next words. As soon as Robin at the cash register finishes up with a transaction and disappears into the kitchen, you decide to make your move.
“Alright, Steve, I’ve had enough of your moping,” you say lightheartedly.
“I’m not moping,” he retorts.
You crumble up a napkin from the dispenser on the table and chuck it at his head. He finally looks over at you, miffed. “You are. At first I felt for you, but now it’s just downright pitiful the way you’re feeling bad for yourself. And annoying.”
“Well, excuse me for annoying you with my—with my very reasonable reaction to my reputation going to shit,” he whines.
“Ah, yes,” you say, hopping out of your seat to pace nonchalantly behind him as you talk. “Your dear reputation. King Steve Harrington.” You pause, taking another lick of your ice cream. “Can’t have the womenfolk of Hawkins possibly thinking you’re bad at anything, now, can he?”
Steve has stopped cleaning the windows long enough to glare at you. But his eyes drop almost imperceptibly to your mouth as you eat your sweet treat. “Listen, I don’t expect you or Robin to get it,” Steve says defensively. “It’s just—yeah, okay, I care a bit about it, okay? So what? Sue me for caring about how I’m not everything I used to be.” With a huff, he turns back to the window, scrubbing it a little harder than necessary with the cleaning rag. “I used to be the Popular Steve Harrington. Used to have influence, friends. The Sports Star Steve Harrington. Now I’m just Washed Up Steve Harrington, forced by his dad to sling ice cream for three bucks an hour, no hope for the future—”
“Okay, I get it, your life’s a drag,” you cut him off. Clearly he’s got a chip on his shoulder that’s bigger than just the Lisa R. problem. ”But it doesn’t have to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is, we gotta do something to cheer you up.” Steve watches you as you pluck another napkin from the dispenser and pull out a pen from the pocket of your work apron. You scribble down your address onto the napkin. “What do you say we hang out after our shifts are over, tonight? My parents are out of town. We can—we can order Pizza Hut, pop in a movie. And I’ll have some booze.” Luckily you have a good friend over the age of 21 who’d be able to hook you up with liquor.
“A party?”
“No, not a party, just two friends decompressing after a long day of work.” You glance toward the kitchen in the direction of Robin. “And maybe this can be a chance for you to get a little break from Robin… I can tell she gets under your skin sometimes.” You like hanging out with Robin, so you feel kind of bad about purposely excluding Robin, but Steve acts relieved.
“You have no idea,” he laughs. “Alright. That sounds…that sounds nice.”
It’s a date, you think. But you just fold the napkin and approach Steve. You pull at the sailoresque collar of his work uniform and tuck the napkin against the skin of his chest, trying not to focus for too long on the dusting of chest hair. Or the way you feel sparks flying at the brush of your fingers against it. “Come by at 8?”
You weren’t positive how Steve was going to react to your proximity—you hadn’t ever gotten so close to him before. His shoulders tense, and he blinks about ten times in a second. “Y—yeah, sounds good, Y/N,” he chokes out. “I’ll stop by Family Video on the way out.”
You smile and leave him without another word to return to your job, and you can feel his gaze boring into the back of your head as you walk away. The napkin-in-the-collar move was unplanned. Was that too obvious? you wonder. Or not obvious enough?
So you turn to look back at him, just like yesterday. He’s still staring at you. You give him another coy smile, and he runs a nervous hand through his hair.
Just right, you decide.
————————————————
Your movie night with Steve was in full swing. You want to kick yourself for not taking action sooner to hang out with him outside of work. After four drinks (Bacardi and Cokes), a box of pizza (pepperoni), and an hour into your second movie (Fast Times at Ridgemont High), you and Steve were sufficiently drunk and happily laughing your asses off together. Laughing about the movie, about the funny things you’d seen at Starcourt Mall that week, about stupid memories from high school, about each other.
The latest subject of your humor was a memory of the time Steve had been giving a speech at a pep rally his sophomore year and tripped directly over a band kid’s sousaphone.
“You’re remembering it all wrong!” Steve groaned, throwing his hands up to his hair.
“I think I’m remembering it perfectly clear,” you laugh, bumping your shoulder into his. You are seated next to Steve on your couch in front of the TV in your parents’ basement. Both your and Steve’s legs are resting on the small ottoman in front of the couch, your feet so close together they’re almost touching. They’d already brushed together a few times throughout the night; you can’t tell if it had been by accident or on purpose. “It was the end-of-semester pep rally, you were giving a motivational speech to the student body as the new ‘co-captain of the basketball team’,” —you sneer at him— “and you tripped directly over Helen Blackshaw’s big tuba.”
“No, no, no,” he retorts, sitting up straighter as if it would strengthen his argument. You thought it was hilarious. “First of all, it wasn’t the end-of-semester pep rally, it was the beginning-of-semester pep rally. And I wasn’t giving a motivational speech, I was running for class president. And lastly, I only tripped on Helen’s tuba because Joshua Gossman purposely pushed it in front of me. Remember Joshua? He had it out for me.”
You take another sip of your Coke-and-Bacardi and roll your eyes. “He had it out for you because you tried to flirt with his girlfriend, the flute player with the blond hair.”
“Okay, wow, like I would have ever flirted with a band geek, gross.”
“My recollection of you from high school would prove you wrong,” you jest. “You flirted with everyone.”
Except for you. You and Steve ran in different crowds and barely spoke, even when you were mutually friends with Tommy H. and Carol for a time. Even then, you and Steve hadn’t truly gotten to know each other until after graduation. Frankly, before you’d befriended the guy, you’d wanted nothing to do with him; you’d thought he was kind of a dick. You see now that he’s changed, for the better. But as disinterested as you’d been in King Steve Harrington, he’d been equally as disinterested in you.
Your heart sinks a bit. What if Steve truly had never thought of you as anything other than friends…never found you attractive, never found himself ever secretly wondering about you in bed, nothing remotely romantic or sexual in the slightest?
“Oh, come on, not everyone,” Steve says, pouring himself another drink. It looks more like a cup of straight rum with a tiny splash of coke.
“If it moved and had boobs, you flirted. Band geeks notwithstanding.”
Maybe you were imagining it, but he seems to glance down from your face for only the briefest second—to your chest. Oop. “Yeah, well, not like it matters anymore. I was a different person back then. Way cooler to the ladies than I am now.”
“Steve.” You sit up as straight as he’s sitting and give him a level glare. “You talk about yourself like you’re some kind of…shell of who you used to be. It wasn’t that long ago.” His face contorts, so you quickly add, “I didn’t mean that as an insult. I just mean, I don’t think you’re washed up just because you work at an ice cream shop, or because you’re not going to Tech next year.”
Steve furrows his brows. “Right…I’m washed up because everyone thinks I’m bad in bed.”
“Does it matter what they think?”
“You sound like Robin, now.”
“But do you really care, though?”
“Well, yeah, I’d like to go to work without pissing my pants every time a group of girls comes in, ‘cause I’m worried that they’re gonna publically call me out for being a bad lover.”
“Ignore the girls,” you say with an encouraging shove to his arm. “They’re jerks.“
“They’re jerks,” Steve agrees. But he’s still frowning.
“What is it?” you ask.
Steve sighs. “Well…I guess it doesn’t really matter what the rumors say. But… it does bug me that I wasn’t good at…you know. That I left someone feeling disappointed.”
Ah. Bingo. You hadn’t been sure where this conversation was going. But now that you’re here, right on topic, you feel confident about segueing into your proposition.
Except, in the heat of the moment, your heart starting to race with nervousness, you fail entirely to achieve a smooth transition. “What if you got someone to teach you?” you blurt.
Steve laughs. “What?”
“I mean—” you stammer. Fuck. “I just mean, if you wanted to get better at…at that part of hooking up, maybe you should find someone who could teach you how to do it.”
Steve raises his eyebrows as he considers. “I dunno,” he says. “I mean, who could I even ask? I’m not really friends with any guys from school anymore who talk about those kind of things. Maybe Tommy H., but fuck that guy. Jesus, my only friends now are literally children, and I can’t talk to Henderson about that, that’d be really gross and probably illegal—”
“No, you dumbass,” you say, forcing out a chuckle to give the illusion of casualness. “Not a guy.”
He looks at you like you’re insane. “What, then? A girl? You think I should ask another girl about…that?” He shakes his head. “No. Absolutely not. I will not humiliate myself like that. Why would I do that if I could just, I don’t know, go to an adult store and pick up a pamphlet and watch a porno or something?”
You crinkle your nose. “Those movies are so unrealistic. Besides…that’s not what I mean.”
“A girl? Really? Who would I even ask for advice about that? Robin? You?”
You tilt your head at him, unblinking, urging him to understand. He stares back with a blank expression. In a blink, realization floods his face.
“Oh.”
Steve says nothing more, just stares at you with wide brown eyes. A long moment passes. You think your heart might explode.
At last, Steve shifts uncomfortably and says, “Are you saying that you…that you’d…”
“I’m saying maybe I could teach you.” You finish his sentence with words so soft they’re nearly imperceptible over the noise of the movie on the television you both had entirely forgotten about. Saying it aloud sounded so stupid now. How could you teach someone to go down on you when you’ve never even had success before with anyone else in the first place? You were probably the worst pick for Steve’s teacher.
Steve is reduced to silence again, a baffled expression etched permanently on his face. He tries to inhale, but his breath seems to get caught in his throat.
You can feel the flood of words filling your brain, your mouth, and finally spilling over your tongue. “But just as friends, nothing more,” you gush. “I was just thinking, maybe it’d help if you had someone who could help give you advice, tell you what works and what doesn’t. Someone you trust, who could get practice with. As, y’know, friends.”
No response. You start to get anxious. “You know what—never mind,” you gabble, starting to stand up. “I shouldn’t have said that. That was really stupid of me.” Of course Steve wouldn’t agree to this. You were delusional. “Forget I ever said anything—”
“Wait, wait, Y/N.” Steve grabs your wrist before you can stand up from the couch. “Slow down. Just…let me try to understand what you’re saying.” You hesitate, but after a moment you relax into his touch and settle on the couch again. Steve hasn’t looked away from you, and you turn your head to meet his gaze and can’t look away. “You’re saying you’d want me to…practice…with you?”
“If you want,” you whisper.
Steve looks dumbfounded. He opens his mouth to respond, then closes it. Suddenly, you become very, very nervous. More nervous than you’ve ever been with any guy. “Why?” he finally asks.
“Why what?”
“Why would you want to let me…” He doesn’t finish his thought, just running his hands through his rugged hair again. Then he speaks again suddenly, stammering over his words. “I-I don’t get it. Why would you want me to practice on you? I don’t have any experience, Y/N. Aren’t you worried that it wouldn’t be good, for you?”
You remind yourself to stop chewing on your cheek before it bleeds. “I mean, isn’t that the point? You’re inexperienced, so you could get the practice you need to get good.”
“Get practice…with you. On you.” Steve doesn’t even hide it now, the way he looks down at your body. But it’s not with desire, or eagerness. Panic floods his features. “Y/N, I don’t know…”
“I just thought maybe I could help you,” you say, words coming out in a rush again. “It’s just, I just saw how upset you were about what happened with Lisa R. and everything and I thought—I dunno, Steve, she seems like an asshole, she seems like the worst kind of person to do that with for the first time. And you deserve to have someone who talks to you and communicates, who can help you figure it out.” You have to pause to suck in a breath. “And I guess I was just thinking that person could be…me.”
As you say the words, his whole body seems to have tensed up. “Um, I…” he stutters and glances around the room. And suddenly, he jolts up on his feet. “Listen, Y/N. I don’t think—I don’t think I can do that. Not with…you.”
Your skin burns with heat. “Oh…Oh. That’s okay, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s not that you’re—” he says at the same time, but you’re talking over each other, and you both stop talking simultaneously. A static tension fills the space between you. When you say nothing, he points to the door and frowns apologetically at you. “I gotta—I gotta go, Y/N.”
“Oh—yeah, no, I get it,” you say, feigning nonchalance. You get up, too, and walk with Steve up the basement stairs without another word. The tension in the room is stagnant and unbearable.
When you and Steve reach your front door, he turns to look in your direction but doesn’t meet your eyes. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t even worry about it,” you cut him off, waving a hand. “Forget I ever said anything?”
“I…” One look at Steve, and you know he’s not going to forget about this anytime soon. Fuck. Worst Case Scenario #2 just came true. But at last, he replies, “Yeah, no, of course.”
“Are you good to drive?” you ask, referring to the alcohol.
“Oh yeah, I’m good.”
“See you tomorrow at Starcourt?” You offer him a small smile.
“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”
As the door shuts behind him, your parents’ house has never felt so silent and empty. You squeeze your eyes shut and stand there by the front door for a long time until you feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins finally dissipate enough to move.
Well, that was a fucking disaster.
There’s not much to do but clean up the basement and get ready for bed, even though it’s only 10:30. Your parents won’t be back until the morning, so you would have stayed up and enjoyed having the house to yourself for the night. But you don’t feel like doing anything but lie in the fetal position in your bed for a long time to mentally chastise yourself for forever ruining your friendship with Steve.
You clean up downstairs, shower, and brush your teeth in a daze. But just as your head hits the pillow, a gentle knock sounds from the front door.
On high alert, you peer out of your room and sneak down the stairs. You’d never usually answer the door this late at night while home alone, but something tells you to go look through the peephole.
It’s Steve.
His eyes widen at the sight of you in your pajamas as you swing open the front door. “Steve?” you ask.
“Sorry, I know it’s late,” he says. His long hair is somehow even more mussed than usual, indicating just how much he must have been running his hand through it in the past hour. “It’s just…”
You squint against the porch light. “What is it?”
He hesitates again, but finally says, “Just as friends, right?”
He’s referring to your proposition. “Just friends,” you reassure him breathlessly.
“Good. I’ve…thought about it.” For the first time since you’ve known him, Steve’s eyes rake over your body with a new emotion behind them: lust. “I’m down.”