Chapter Text
It wasn’t that Eddie hadn’t noticed Steve Harrington before. Of course he had. It’s hard not to notice someone when you watch them bite the head off of a demon bat while you’re both standing in a hellish, horrifying version of your own hometown. Harder still to not notice them when they’re pressing firm but tender hands over your own wounds, from those same bats, carrying you back hurriedly through the hole in your Upside Down trailer as you slowly fade into unconsciousness. Steve had saved him. Of course he had noticed Steve.
Even before the events of the past few months, he had noticed him. Everyone knew the town’s Golden Boy, ladies’ man, swim team captain. Everyone noticed him. He was handsome, and charming, and rich to boot. Eddie had always shrugged him off as some spoiled rich kid asshole who got everything he ever wanted. After all of this, though, he realized that there was more to him. He was kind, and generous, and fiercely protective of his friends. He was a good dude. Dustin had tried to tell him that before. Now he believed it. Now he knew it.
So yeah, Eddie had noticed Steve. But he had never noticed Steve, until now. Until now, when, he walked to the house Steve was helping to rebuild – so much of Hawkins needing rebuilding, and though Eddie had missed out on much of it, recovering from his wounds, he was still well enough to do his part: delivering lunches to those doing the physical labour.
He passed out the sandwiches and cokes, giving Steve a smile as he passed him his Ham and Swiss, their hands brushing for the briefest of seconds. Steve had been working hard today - he could tell. The perfect hair was askew, streaked with drywall dust and pieces of gyprock. His shirt (a touch too small for him, but perfect in that it only showed the definition of his muscles that much more) darkened at the underarms, the collar, the back, with Steve’s sweat. His forearms and forehead glistening with it, as well. They chatted, some, while Steve ate and Eddie passed out the rest of the lunches. The conversation was nothing consequential – how the work was progressing, how Max was doing in the hospital, how many people had given Eddie dirty looks on his way over.
He was innocent, officially, as far as public record and law enforcement were concerned. It didn’t mean the town of Hawkins was suddenly all sunshine and rainbows and parades for Eddie. It never would be, but he’d long since accepted that. He was too different, in too many ways, for them to ever accept him the way that they accepted Steve. So long as he didn’t get pelted with rocks on the way here, he counted it as a win.
Steve finished his lunch, and dusted his hands on his jeans, thanking Eddie as he turned to get back to his work.
And that’s when Eddie noticed him. Or rather, noticed the white square of fabric in the back right pocket of Steve’s jeans.
His heart felt like it had been sucked through a portal into the Upside Down and unceremoniously dumped back into his chest, within the span of a few seconds. The words he’d been about to say to Steve – ‘Same time tomorrow!’ – died in his throat. He turned and left before anyone could ask why his face had suddenly turned bright red, or why his gait was suddenly wider. He could feel his face burning and sweat beading at his brow, and the tightness in his already-too-tight jeans.
A white handkerchief. Steve Harrington with a white handkerchief. It couldn’t mean what he thought it meant, not in a million years.
But… what if it did?
He hurried into the school - his base of operations - and made his way to the bathroom as quickly as humanly possible. It was mercifully empty, and Eddie took the moment of solitude to lean over the sink, splash water on his face, and let out a stream of every curse word he’d learned since kindergarten. He looked up at himself in the dirty, streaky mirror, face still dripping with water, the curls around his cheeks now damp.
He knew the code, for the most part, though he’d never employed it, not really. There was no one else in Hawkins to really know it for, not that he knew of, at least. The black bit of cloth in his back pocket was largely for the aesthetic, but he still knew what it signaled to… to others like him. Knew what the white one in Steve’s pocket signaled… if it was a signal at all.
It could be just an innocent handkerchief, after all.
But if it wasn’t…
Eddie hurried into the nearest stall before he could think better of it. He locked the door, pressing his back against it for added measure, and unbuckled his jeans faster than he’d ever thought possible. As it was, he’d already gotten a little hard seeing sweaty, disheveled, muscled Steve – that was typical for him, by now - but he got absolutely rock solid when he saw that square of fabric framing Steve’s perfect ass, and it hadn’t waned even a little on the walk over.
He grasped himself firmly, stroking quickly, too pent up, too turned on to tease himself even a little first. His hands were slick almost immediately, from his own arousal, and he stepped closer to the toilet, leaning over it to do his best not to make a mess on the floor, or on his jeans. He bit back a groan and pumped himself eagerly, the idea of Steve with his white handkerchief planting itself solidly in his fantasy.
“Need a hand?” The sultry voice made him startle even more than the sound of the stall door swinging open. Eddie tried to turn in surprise, to cover himself up, but strong arms wrapped around him before he got the chance. He inhaled, sharply, and the scent of Steve – his sweat, his natural musk, and the smell of his soap – filled his nostrils.
“Wh, Steve-!” He squawked out a protest.
“Shhh…” Steve whispered, moving his hands down Eddie’s body. “Shh… I got ya…”
“Steve…” Eddie’s breath came out in a shudder. This couldn’t be happening. Steve couldn’t be here, touching him, his breath hot and heavy against Eddie’s ear.
“Yeah, that’s right, say my name, baby…” Steve hummed, as he finally took Eddie in hand. Eddie keened, one hand coming up to cover his mouth, but Steve’s free hand beat him to it. It was warm, and big, able to cover the whole lower half of his face… and its twin was not too shabby, either. It fit perfectly around Eddie’s cock, stroking him from root to tip like a pro.
“Steve…” Eddie moaned, muffled by Steve’s hand, and bucked upward into the warm grip surrounding him. Steve pumped him, hard and fast, until Eddie’s knees began to shake, and then Steve paused at the tip, running a calloused thumb around it. Eddie’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head, and he keened again, the sound echoing around the boys’ bathroom, despite the attempts to muffle it.
“Fuck, you sound close, baby… are you?” Steve asked, as if the fluid clinging to his thumb wasn’t evidence enough.
“Mm-hmm!” Eddie nodded, desperately, heaving hot little breaths out his nose, rippling the hairs on Steve’s hand and wrist.
Steve let out a chuckle, and began stroking Eddie anew, hard and fast like before. This time, when Eddie’s legs threatened to buckle, he kept at it, bearing Eddie’s weight against him.
“Steve! Steve! Oh god! I’m-!” Eddie gasped, the words hot and wet against the palm of Steve’s hand. His hips jerked as he finally spilled over, reaching up to grasp at Steve’s shoulders as he rode out the orgasm. Steve stroked him through it until… until…
Until he was once again standing alone in the same bathroom where, in a different time, he’d be getting his head shoved into this toilet, instead of standing over it. His cock still dripped with his release, after fantasizing about Steve Harrington.
Fuck.