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It was nothing more meaningful than an experiment. At least, Jonathan told himself as much, standing on a frosty footpath in downtown Indianapolis. An experiment to figure himself out. In middle school, he'd never been as crush-focused as the other guys were, and in highschool, never as sex-fixated. Sure, there were always people, girls and guys alike, that Jonathan could recognise as being attractive. But he didn't think that counted as crushes - really, it felt like common sense combined with having eyes. He'd never had what felt like a crush until Nancy. Even that eventually became love; something true, something real, something Jonathan could ground himself in. When he kissed Nancy, he'd done it not out of hunger, but of adoration, reverence for this incredible woman. The times they had sex were never out of lust - they came from a craving for closeness, for intimacy, to know eachother inside and out. Jonathan would hesitate to even call his feelings for Nancy attraction - it was just unbridled admiration, respect, devotion. Jonathan had never though much about intimacy outside of his quiet nights spent with his ex-partner. He didn't remotely consider himself an easy person. Which is why his influx of unwanted thoughts was really starting to fuck with his head.
The abundance of attractive men in New York was really not helping his case. The barista on the corner of his apartment building, who drew smiley faces on Jonathan's americanos every morning, made his heart somersault when he watched the man's hands work the espresso machine. Jonathan's new friend from class who invited him to a party, where the guy seemed to get touchier with every drink until he was practically sitting in Jonathan's lap. Even his professor, who'd stride across his empty office with a grin to tell Jonathan "great work, unsurprisingly" in that gravelly, low voice. He beat himself up over that one for days. Jonathan wondered if he was going through some torturous second puberty, complete with all the testosterone spikes and wet dreams he had missed out on the first time around. It wasn't that he thought being - well, whatever he was - was bad. It was more just that the confusion and questioning was eating away at him from the inside. Jonathan had found other boys attractive before, in an objective way. He filed those names away in his brain, in a folder of "dream photo subjects". And he'd truly believed that this admiration was nothing more than a somewhat-perverse artistic streak. He knew it didn't matter. He was still Jonathan, still living his dream, studying film in New-York-fucking-City. And yet, he couldn't stop thinking it over every second of his day. Did he like guys? Could he have loved Nancy and now want to be with men? Was that even an option? Was every Hawkins jock who'd spat the word queer at him secretly psychic? He thought to himself that Steve would have a field day. Not in a cruel way - not like the old Steve would. More in a hyperactive, giddy, "oh-my-god-I-told-you-so-I-was-right" way. Despite initial impressions of him, Jonathan had accepted that Steve was a good guy. And in the past few years, he'd even come to say that King Steve was his good friend. God bless Nancy for putting up with us until then, Jonathan thought, giggling to himself.
It had been weeks at this point, and Jonathan was sick of this. He was frustrated of wasting his own time. Ignoring the thoughts didn't help, and indulging in them didn't either. Either way, he ended up feeling ashamed of himself, either feeling like a homophobe or a pervert - both things that he did not want to be. Thinking wasn't doing him any good. Jonathan needed to do something, to figure this thing out. He'd tried looking for clubs, bars, the sorts of places that seemed to be the first point of call. But for every place he found in New York, he knew someone that lived within ten blocks of it. He knew it was a stupid paranoia - besides, it wasn't like the NYU arts students were a particularly conservative bunch - but the thought of someone seeing him even near a place like that made his skin crawl. He wanted to go somewhere away from here, away from the life he'd fought so hard to build for himself. A place where no one knew Jonathan Byers, NYU-Junior, and creator of the acclaimed student film The Consumer. Which is how he came to remember a bar Robin had mentioned, a place in Indianapolis, where she and Vickie had their last night out before they both had moved away. Jonathan conjured up the memory in his mind, of Robin saying how at home she felt, how safe.
It was stupid. Jonathan knew it was so, so stupid. But despite his logic's protests, he called in sick for his Friday shift at the cinema, and threw a hastily-packed duffel bag in the back of his car. He told himself if anyone asked, he was paying Joyce a surprise visit. Which he was. It just wasn't the sole purpose of his road trip. Never in all his years had Jonathan thought he'd be practically vibrating, with fear and something less familiar, on a return trip to Indiana.
So due to this course of semi-regrettable decisions, Jonathan was standing under the awning of an industrial-looking building, one hand in the pocket of his favourite corduroy pants, the other pressing a cigarette to his lips: a pathetic attempt at controlling his nerves. He felt silly, wearing a black-button down with his hair styled far too much for comfort. Was this a terrible idea? Jonathan felt an ache resemblant of shame in his chest. He felt like his skin was too tight over his bones. He felt dirty, the smoke mixing with his too-strong cologne. He felt so, innately wrong. Just as he was about to call it quits, pick his stuff up from the motel and get the hell out of here, Jonathan spotted a pair of men, maybe ten years older than him, who dashed across the street together, their faces painted with the widest smiles Jonathan had ever seen. Hand in hand, the two entered the building, chatting and laughing as they walked. Jonathan let out a shaky breath. That was what existed behind that door. Not sin, filth, shame, but love. Jonathan exhaled, and threw the sad remains of his cigarette to the pavement, stamping it out as he strode in front of, then through, the door to the bar.
The energy washed over him like a flood. Pink and blue LED lights flashed to the beat of the heavy music that flowed through the room. The furniture was bright, crushed velvet loveseats and barstools of different colours, scattered across the floor. Seated on them were nearly every kind of person Jonathan could've pictured - some guys dressed in jeans and t-shirts, some in strappy pleather attire, girls in muscle tanks and mini dresses alike. On the wall hung black-and-white prints of similar characters, the ink revealing bodies that danced, kissed, that lived so vividly. Like a museum of life, Jonathan thought. When it dawned on him that he had been standing in the entryway like a ghoul for far too long, he forced his frozen legs to move, at least until the bar. Trying to read the fine-printed cocktail menu under the inconsistent strobing of the lights made Jonathan feel sick, so instead, he paid for the cheapest beer, smiled at the bartender, and threw himself in the direction of the dance floor. He swore he could feel the bass of the song being played vibrating his brain around his head. A taller man in a flannel brushed past him, mouthing "hey there" with a smirk. Jonathan could feel a blush rise to his cheeks, and the slightest smile beginning to form on his face.
As he pushed himself further onto the dance floor, the mass of bodies seemed to part for him, pulling him closer to the centre of the room. The heat of the people around him made Jonathan giddy. He actually did it. The hard part was done. And the rest of this night was his, to use for the reason that he came to Indianapolis in the first place. Spotting the boy swaying by himself in the crowd, a couple of men had asked Jonathan to dance. He'd grip their hand with a nod, and jump around until the room spun. It was fun, just letting himself float around, in a place where no one knew him. Even if he froze up when anyone tried to bring him closer, it was an easy fix: he'd smile and let go of their hand, before moving to another part of the floor. It was simple, for a while. He was being led by his arm, by a girl with bleach-blonde hair and heavy eyeliner. She brought him to fill an opening in a small circle near the edge of the room, where people chattered and bodies pulsed in time with the music. When a figure across the circle turned around to face him, Jonathan felt his heart leap into his throat. Across him stood Steve Harrington, who looked equally as disturbed. Jonathan couldn't believe his fucking eyes. King Steve, who had once taunted Jonathan for allegedly being "a queer", was wearing the tightest bootcut jeans Jonathan had ever seen, and ironically, a cropped white tank top with "PRINCESS" emblazoned across the chest.
"Holy shit, Jonathan?" Steve broke through the group, which parted around him like water, and pulled Jonathan into a tight embrace, grinning uncontrollably.
"Definitely didn't expect to see you here, how are you man?"
Johnathan laughed slightly to himself, running his hand through his hair and cringing at the feeling of dried hairspray against his fingers.
"Yeah, I'm good. Surprised to see you too."
"No shit," Steve laughed, his dark eyes reflecting all the different hues of the club lights.
"You wanna go get a drink?"
Jonathan's had propped himself up on a red velvet loveseat, leaning back against the carved wooden arm rest. Steve wandered over from the bar, holding two fizzy-looking drinks in his grip.
"Thanks," Jonathan chimed with a smile, taking a glass from Steve's grasp and swigging much more liquid than he needed to. He sputtered, coughing into his fist as his throat burned. "Fuck dude, that's strong".
"Is it? You've always been a lightweight, though" Steve giggled, languidly sipping from his own drink.
"So, then, what brings you here? Forgive me for my bluntness, but I never took you as, um. Gay, I guess." Jonathan stared at the floor as he spoke, suddenly wishing he hadn't opened his mouth at all. He was glad that Steve was quick to fill the silence.
"Well, not technically, I'm not. I like girls, but I like guys too."
"Oh," Jonathan blurted out, "cool."
He could feel Steve's eyes fixated on him, and it felt like they were going to burn a hole through Jonathan's entire body. God, he wished he had a cigarette right now.
"And you?" Steve queried, his eyebrow raised slightly. "What made you want to come here, Jon?"
Jonathan felt a flush spread across his face, down to his neck. He played with the done-up button at his collar and scolded himself for dressing like he was going to church instead of a bar.
"I-uh- I don't really know, I guess. I've just been questioning a lot of stuff about myself lately. And I figured, lying in my room moping isn't gonna give me the answers I want."
Steve's gaze softened, and Jonathan very quickly felt like he was being a complete loser.
"I'm really glad to hear you realised that, Jonathan." Steve smiled gently, and Jonathan's heart raced so quickly he felt like he might explode. "You're a good guy. I want you to be happy. You deserve it." The tenderness of Steve's voice made Jonathan lift his head, meeting the brunette's eyes. He did a double-take as the lights hit the side of Steve's face. Blue glitter was dusted along the angles of his cheekbones and his eyelids, and a dark outline surrounded Steve's wide brown eyes.
"Shit, dude, are you wearing makeup?"
Steve shoved Jonathan's shoulder back into the couch. "Yeah man, you're the one who went interstate to go to a fucking gay bar, you can't go all judgey on a guy that wears makeup!"
Jonathan laughed, pushing Steve's hand off of him. "That's not what I meant! It was an honest question!"
Steve giggles, casting his eyes down to stare at his lap.
"And besides," Jonathan muses, lowering his voice down ever-so-slightly, "it looks good on you anyway."
Steve looks up at Jonathan through his eyelashes, and Jonathan tries to not watch the rising and falling of his chest under the too-thin fabric of his tank top.
"C'mon Johnny-boy," Steve beams, seizing Johnathan's hand with a sudden bolt of energy.
"Dance with me."
Jonathan lets Steve steer him back to the dance floor, though they stay near the edges this time around. They jump and thrash around obnoxiously, which is initiated by Steve. Jonathan knows that Steve's a good dancer, so he considers that this is probably his attempt at reducing Jonathan's anxiety. Jonathan spins Steve around once, and their fingers stay interlocked from then on. When the music turns more intense, Steve shifts through the heavy air in the space, moves to stand behind Jonathan, still reaching over the taller boy's shoulder to hold onto his hand. It happens so suddenly that Jonathan feels faint. Steve's warm, wet breath, panting against his neck. Steve's strong fingers interlaced with his. And then, Steve's other hand coming up to rest on Jonathan's waist. Every muscle in his body feels tense, and all Jonathan can think is What the actual fuck is happening right now. Steve stops dancing for a moment, and uses both of his hands to turn Jonathan towards him. "Are you okay? Jon? Hang on, let's go outside." Rather than dragging Jonathan behind him as he had before, Steve stays as close to the other boy's side as he's able to, rubbing soft circles over Jonathan's hand with his thumb. Jonathan's chest suddenly feels very, very tight. Once Steve rescues his forgotten coat from a bar stool, he leads Jonathan outside into the night, turning towards him, face sick with worry.
"Jonathan, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I shouldn't have-"
"Steve!" Jonathan shouts, exasperated. "Please stop rambling. You didn't make me uncomfortable. I promise."
Steve's shoulders are still tensed, Jonathan notes, but at least his knitted eyebrows have begun to soften, and he no longer looks like he might throw up any second.
"You sure?" Steve mumbles, running his fingers through his hair.
Jonathan smiles to himself. He's still Steve. They're still them.
"Of course," he assures. "It's just, like, I've never been with a guy, or anything. I've been so in my head about this, and I just- I don't want to do anything wrong."
Now Steve's just staring at Jonathan, batting his wide, chocolate-brown eyes that have made so many girls and boys swoon. Jonathan wonders if he's now another name on that list.
"But I trust you, Steve. And I want this."
Steve's breath is shockingly warm against Jonathan's face as he inches closer, his hand resuming its former position on Jonathan's waist. Jonathan bites his lip in response to the touch, and prays that he can keep his fucking mouth shut.
"Yeah?" Steve almost coos as he tilts his chin down, so he's practically whispering in Jonathan's ear. "Say it. Say what you want."
Jonathan's breath catches in his throat, and he feels as though he'll choke on his words if he tries to speak. But Steve told him what to do. He wasn't going to not listen.
"You," he whispers, his voice small in a way he hasn't heard for a while. "I want you, Steve."
He can feel Steve's grin widen against the side of his face, before the brunette pulls away. Jonathan grieves the loss of their closeness.
"You got a motel room, baby?"
Jonathan's eyes widen. He wishes his hands would stop shaking. It makes him feel incredibly uncool.
"Um, yeah," he stumbles, "around the block."
Steve smiles, his eyes twinkling in the street light. Like magic, Jonathan thinks.
"Then let's go."
When Steve lets the door click shut behind him, the silence that follows is eerie. On instinct, Jonathan kicks off his shoes, slowly, and hangs up Steve's coat that he had offered to carry. Behind him, he knows that Steve is leaning against the doorway. Watching. Waiting. Before Jonathan can finish opening his mouth to apologise for his pathetic desperation, he feels a firm pair of hands on his hips, and his mouth closes without a thought. Steve pulls him back, gently pressing his frame against the wooden door. Jonathan lets out an oof, and Steve shamelessly smiles at that, before closing in. They breathe against eachothers' faces for a moment, and Jonathan wonders if he ever could have predicted that this would be a point in the relationship shared by him and Steve Harrington.
"Jonathan. Listen to me, okay?'
He tilts his face up, and god, Steve looks like an angel, even with the dinginess of the light that shines behind him. Steve starts trailing his hands up and down Jonathan's sides, and the rhythmic nature of the contact makes him feel like putty.
"I think, and correct me if I'm wrong, that this will go better if I take the reins a little bit. Because I don't want that head of yours running wild with what you are and aren't doing right, hey sweetheart?"
Jonathan pauses for a moment, his eyes flicking away from Steve's, before he nods softly.
Steve lowers his face down next to Jonathan's ear, as he did on the pavement outside of the bar. This time, he doesn't stop himself. He presses his lips to the shell of Jonathan's ear, and the man prays that Steve didn't hear the pathetically breathy exhale that just escaped him.
"We don't have to do anything you don't want to, Jon. Tell me to stop and I will." His lips are moving against Jonathan's skin as he speaks, and the lightness of the touch makes Jonathan want to cry.
"But I want you to let me take care of you. Can you do that for me, honey?"
Jonathan lets out a humiliating noise, something between a sigh and a whine, as he presses his forehead into Steve's chest.
"God, yes, Steve, please."
Steve giggles, and presses a kiss to the top of Jonathan's head.
"Good boy", he praises, and Jonathan nearly dies on the spot. Before he can respond, Steve's taken one hand off of his waist, lifting Jonathan's chin up with his fingers. He treats him so delicately, like a porcelain doll that could break any minute, and it's driving Jonathan insane. Steve's dark eyes are fixated on Jonathan's mouth: waiting for permission. So Jonathan provides it, leans in, and presses his lips softly against Steve's.
Steve's lips are glossy, and they taste like artificial fruit, like a girl's chapstick. Not that Jonathan had much to go off of. But the guess seemed close enough. Steve angled his head downwards, brushing his nose against Jonathan's as he smiled.
"You're so pretty, you know that?"
And god, if that didn't make Jonathan blush. He let his hands come up to rest on the back of Steve's neck, cupping the firm muscle that lay above the man's collarbones. Steve dove back into the kiss, gently nipping Jonathan's bottom lip. His mouth fell open with a soft moan, and Steve took the opportunity to plunge his tongue into Jonathan's mouth. Steve didn't kiss with hunger: he was slow, careful, giving exploratory licks all through Jonathan's mouth, like he was trying to map every last crease and line. Jonathan brought his fingers up to grip a handful of Steve's hair, pulling him close until their chests were flush together. The low, breathless sound that fell out of Steve's mouth made heat burn low in Jonathan's stomach. Steve pulled his mouth away from Jonathan's, his lips red and puffy, as he brought his hands to rest on the back of Jonathan's head, tilting it against the door to reveal the angles of the man's lithe neck. Jonathan had learned a million things about himself today, and one of these was that he wanted Steve to manhandle him until the end of time. His attempt to glance down at what's going on below his eyeline is cut off by Steve, who latches onto the skin below Jonathan's jaw, pressing wet kisses over the area. Jonathan exhales shakily, feeling his pants tighten in response to this new touch. Steve moves his face down, closer to Jonathan's collarbone, and lets one of his hands fall to cup Jonathan's chest. And as Steve starts sucking on the sensitive skin along Jonathan's jugular, mapping a path with his teeth, he traces Jonathan's chest with his thumb, before lightly pinching the hardened nipple there.
The noise that Jonathan lets out is downright filthy, and he prays that the motel is cheap enough for no one to care what he does in the privacy of his own room.
"You sound so beautiful, Jon, holy shit," Steve rasps, his lips moving to the untouched side of Jonathan's neck, "my pretty boy". Jonathan can't help his hips from bucking up in response to that, as he throws his head back against the door.
"Please, Steve-" he moans, voice drowning in desperation.
"Please, what?" Steve pushes, lifting his face from Jonathan's neck, angling the other boy's head down until their eyes meet. "Use your words."
"Holy shit, Steve, just touch me, please, fuck!"
Jonathan nearly sobs as he speaks, because everything is so good and so much and he still can't believe that it's happening with Steve fucking Harrington.
"I am touching you, baby boy," he hums, and Jonathan whines. "If you want something, you're gonna have to be more specific than that". Steve punctuates his point by rolling his hips lightly against Jonathan's, their crotches bumping together.
"Fuck, Steve, touch my dick, please, I'll do anything." Jonathan's entire face is burning red, and he realises that Steve made quick progress in undoing his shirt as he rambled.
"All you had to do was ask, baby." Steve's hands come to rest on Jonathan's bare hips, more forceful than before, as he traces over the map of Jonathan's chest with a path of kisses. Once he can't dip his face any further down the boy's torso, Steve drops to his knees, gazing up at Jonathan with those puppy-eyes, like he's the entire world. Jonathan feels like all of the air has suddenly been knocked from his lungs, because Steve looks and feels like a fucking dream, and he doesn't know what he's done in a past life to ever deserve this heaven on earth. Steve trails his hand down Jonathan's stomach, before popping his button undone. His eyes lock back on Jonathan, before bringing his mouth down to the boy's fly, gripping the zipper with his shining teeth and slowly dragging it down. It feels so pornographic, the type of thing you see in a magazine or a tape, not in real life, and certainly not with the boy you went to hell and back beside.
Steve mouths against the fabric of Jonathan's black boxers, wetting the fabric with the obscene amount of drool he's letting spill down his face. It's like he's trying to bury himself in Jonathan's crotch, the way he's rubbing his entire face between his legs, pulling the waistline of Jonathan's pants down so he can grip the back of the boy's limber thighs.
"Stevie..."Jonathan keens, and in response, he feels the vibration of Steve's moan against his neglected cock. Steve lifts his face up to look at Jonathan, lips still pressed against his clothed bulge, before he traces his fingertips up along the front of Jonathan's thighs. When he reaches the waistband of the other boy's underwear, Steve dips his hand underneath the fabric, finally making contact with Jonathan's bare skin.
"Fuck, baby, you're so hard," Steve teases, raising his eyebrows at Jonathan. "You really need it, don't you?"
"Yes, god, Steve, need you. Need you so bad." Jonathan's panting at this point, having lost the restraint to be quiet, desperate for friction and Steve's touch.
The brunette's face morphs into a satisfied smirk, as he slowly begins to pump his hand up and down Jonathan's length. It's been so long since someone's touched him like this, and the overwhelm of it all makes Jonathan's head loll back, until it knocks the solidness of the door and reminds him that somehow, this is not a dream, and is actually happening. Steve uses his other hand to pull the fabric of Jonathan's boxers down, still gripping the boy's cock, which sits flush and heavy in his palm. He runs his thumb along the tip and Jonathan lets out a cry, bucking into the touch. Steve bites his lip as he smears Jonathan's precum across his length. He's so horny, and way more into this, into seeing Jonathan like this, than he ever thought he would be. He stifles a moan, and tries to focus on running his hand over Jonathan's cock, setting a steady pace. But fuck, Jonathan is bigger than he expected, and its kind of driving him insane.
"You've been so good tonight, sweetheart", Steve praises sweetly, "and I think you've earned a reward". Wrapping his hands around the base of Jonathan's dick, Steve parts his lips around the head, letting his eyes flutter shut. He swirls his tongue around Jonathan as he pushes his length further down his throat, reveling in the weight on his tongue and the salty taste that he surrounds with his mouth. He lifts his eyes up to Jonathan, who looks so far gone, Steve wonders how long it would take to get him off with just his mouth. The thought gives him a renewed hunger. He lets his jaw relax, and moves his wet mouth to pump up and down Jonathan's length. He runs his tongue along the underside of the other boy's cock, and basks in the string of "yes", "mm", and "Steve" that falls from Jonathan's mouth. When Jonathan's whines fall into a steady pattern, Steve takes a breath through his nose and buries his face as close to Jonathan's hips as he can, nearly swallowing the boy to the hilt. Before Steve can worry about moving and not choking, Jonathan almost yelps, pulling Steve off his cock.
"Jesus, Stevie, fuck, you nearly made me cum!" he complains breathlessly, despite the smile spreading across his mouth, chest heaving as he pants. Steve just wipes his face, sits back on his heels and smiles.
"Isn't that the point?"
Jonathan lets out a breathy little sigh. "I mean, yes, but- not like that! Not that quickly." The end of his sentence trails into an embarrassed groan, as Steve runs his hands along Jonathan's legs.
"How do you want to cum then, sweetheart?" He looks up at Jonathan and silently prays that he's doing enough to not make the anxious man freak out and swear off gay sex for the rest of his days.
"Um..." Jonathan turns his face away, but Steve can still see the blush that creeps across his face and neck.
"Tell me, Jon. It's just me. Just Steve. You can tell me anything, okay?" Steve lifts his hands up to intertwine his fingers with Jonathan's, and he feels the boy's muscles melt yet again. Bingo.
"I wanna have, like, proper sex, if that's, um, something you want? It's just that I trust you and I- I want to do it with you." The sentiment is so sweet that Steve's heart feels like it might explode. He lifts himself off of his knees until he's standing face to face with Jonathan.
"Of course, honey" he affirms, pressing a kiss to the top of Jonathan's head.
"C-can I ask you a question?" Jonathan mutters into Steve's neck.
"Yeah, baby?"
"I-" Jonathan quickly covers his face with his hands, groaning into his palms. "Oh my god this is so silly, but, um. Do you usually like... uh-"
"Top or bottom?" Steve fills in.
"Yeah. That." Jonathan's ears have turned completely pink, and Steve thinks he might die of how adorable the boy is.
"I've done both. I like both. Like, it's a different feeling, way different, but both good, y'know?"
Jonathan nods slightly, letting his hands drop from his face.
"Maybe given it's your first time with a guy, I can bottom?"
Jonathan's eyes shoot open again. Steve doesn't know how the boy can be surprised by anything Steve says or does at this point, given his once arch nemesis was just on his knees with his cock in his mouth.
"Uh-yeah-that's-if you're okay with that?" Jonathan stutters, letting his hands rest on Steve's shoulders. He suddenly becomes very aware of the fact that Steve is still fully clothed, and he's basically shirtless with his dick out and pants pulled down. He thinks that maybe he is easy. Or maybe he's only easy for Steve.
"Of course, baby," Steve grins, "besides, I liked sucking your cock so much, why wouldn't I want it inside me? Gonna feel even better."
Jonathan hears the sound of his own humiliating whimper, and pushes Steve backwards, until the two are sitting beside eachother on the edge of the motel bed. They giggle as it creaks under them. Steve presses his forehead tenderly against Jonathan's, before capturing his lips in a deep, gentle kiss. "How are you real?" Jonathan murmurs against Steve's lips, and the boy grins so beautifully, his eyes flicking down to his lap as his mascara-coated lashes flutter, that Jonathan thinks he might cry. God, he wishes he brought his camera.
"Take your clothes off properly, Jon," Steve instructs gently, "and lay back on the bed for me. I'll strip too, and then we can talk about what we're gonna do." Jonathan nods fervently, before kicking his pants and boxers off of his ankles, and casting his shirt off from his shoulders. He shuffles to lie on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows to glance at Steve, who's pulling his boxers down at the moment Jonathan looks. And holy fuck, Steve has an amazing ass. Why did Jonathan never realise that Steve had such a beautiful ass? How much time had he wasted being stubborn and bitter when he could've been admiring the Adonis that stood in front of him now? Steve turned around, his dick hitting against his stomach as he walked. In his hand, he waved a small plastic wrapper that he'd pulled from the pocket of his jeans.
"Okay, lesson one - always use a condom, same as straight sex. I'm clean, and I'm guessing you are too, but it's better to be safe than sorry. Less messy too."
Jonathan's face falls into a dopey smile at Steve's newly adopted seriousness.
"Scared I'm gonna knock you up, Harrington?"
Steve scoffs, tearing open the wrapper and sliding the rubber over Jonathan's length.
"I wouldn't want you as the father to my child. You'd, like, scare them with all the weird movies you'd make. I'd have to explain why daddy's always down in the boiler room." They're both smiling like idiots now, and Steve swings his leg over Jonathan's hips to straddle him, before leaning down to press a soft kiss to Jonathan's nose.
When Steve pulls back, Jonathan's blessed with the chance to properly admire the beauty lay bare in front of him. For him. Steve was tan, and still as toned as he'd always been, maybe more so, from the regular baseball practice and gym sessions that he'd been boasting about whenever they called. His hair was messy from where he'd caught it in the tank top as he pulled it over his head, and the glitter dusted across his cheekbones had endured the evening, making Steve look fucking magestic. Jonathan ran his hands along Steve's torso, and let himself get drunk off the warmth of Steve's skin.
"Shirt's accurate." he whispered with a smirk.
Steve chuckled. "What?"
"Your shirt," Jonathan repeated, "it's accurate." He let his hands cup Steve's chest, palming over the smooth skin. He leaned up, bringing his mouth to Steve's ear, and bit back a groan as their dicks knocked together.
"You are a princess. My princess."
Jonathan pulled back with a smile, and the expression on Steve's face was priceless. His wide eyes blinked in surprise, a dusty blush had washed over his cheeks, and his lips had partly slightly, his mouth forming a little "o". Jonathan tried to not let his internal shit-eating grin reflect on his face. He'd successfully made Steve Harrington flustered, and he'd never let himself forget the fact.
"Okay, that was very smooth," Steve laughed, "however, focusing on the manner at hand." His stern facial expression returned, and Jonathan's eyes were drawn to meet his, the instinct almost magnetic. "Have you ever done any anal, Jon?" The question felt so stupid, and yet, Steve's smooth, low voice was making Jonathan melt.
"Um- no. Not before." Jonathan stuttered, staring up at Steve with wide eyes.
"Good to know," Steve purred, "because that leads us to lesson 2, prep. You need to make sure that the person you're fucking is prepared to take you, so you don't hurt them." Steve recited these words with such an ease that Jonathan wondered if that was what they taught in Sex Ed nowadays.
"Okay. Cool," Jonathan mumbled, letting his hands explore the smooth skin on the tops of Steve's thighs. "So, how do I do that?"
"Most common way is fingering - works well, and feels nice for the other person so helps them relax. Kind of like with a pussy, if you've done that."
"Uh-yeah-okay, cool." Jonathan really was trying to focus, but the idea of his fingers in Steve's ass, making the boy above him moan and tremble, was really distracting him from Gay Sex 101 with Mr Harrington. Steve was much hotter than his professor anyways, and this class was far more fun.
"Do you want to watch me, baby?" Steve hummed, tucking a strand of Jonathan's hair behind his ear.
"Yes- um-please. That would be really nice." His dick ached at the loss of Steve's weight against him, as the brunette went to rifle through his coat, his hand emerging with a tiny bottle of clear liquid. Jonathan had started forming a quippy remark in his head about Steve carrying lube on his person, but every thought he possessed quickly disappeared, when Steve knelt against the mattress, facing away from Jonathan. His heart started palpitating as he heard a quiet click, and saw Steve coating two of his fingers in the gel. The boy cast a glance back over his shoulder, and smiled in Jonathan's direction.
"Watch and learn, baby boy."
Before Jonathan could respond, Steve was on his hands and knees, his back arched to expose his asshole. It was pink, tight, already wet, and Jonathan thought that he could cum just by staring at Steve's ass. It was safe to say that when Steve reached under his body and began circling his rim with his pointer finger, Jonathan thought he might actually explode. Steve pushed in to the first knuckle of his finger, and his hole fluttered open receptively. Jonathan was in awe - if this was a film, he'd watch it on repeat until the moment he died. He wanted to memorise every detail of the scene in front of him, and to relive this moment as many times as Steve would allow him. Steve moaned quietly, little "ah"'s falling from his mouth as he pumped his digit in and out of his body. He looked back at Jonathan with heavy eyes, his pupils blown out so wide he looked high.
"You can, ah, touch, if you want," Steve gritted out through his pleasure. That was all Jonathan needed to hear. He traced the back of Steve's knees with his fingertips, lightly following the veins that ran along his sunkissed legs. He petted the backs of Steve's thigh, mystified by the softness of his skin, until he heard the filthy whimper that Steve let out, as he pushed another finger inside himself. Jonathan pressed kisses along the curve of Steve's ass, as he saw the boy curl his fingers downwards, a delicious moan escaping from his mouth as it hung open in pleasure.
"You can, um, also, move your fingers back and forth, like a scissor gesture. Helps with the, ngh, stretching. Like this." Steve started to move his fingers backwards and forwards, in time with eachother, his eyes lolling back in his head as he quickened his motions. He felt like he was in fucking space, and the fact he was doing this in front of Jonathan made his heart flutter in his chest. And when Steve felt a wet kissed pressed to his rim, right beside his fingers, the heat that shot through him was fucking electric. "Holy fuck, Jonathan, please, oh my god". Steve shuddered as he removed his fingers, feeling the sudden emptiness quickly replaced by Jonathan's warm, wet lips against his hole. Steve giggled, pushing Jonathan's face away. "Okay, that feels amazing, but also, I need you inside me, like, yesterday." Steve turned to face Jonathan, crawling on top of him until he was straddling the boy's stomach. Jonathan pressed a kiss to Steve's lips and he grinned.
"So beautiful, Stevie. You're amazing. Wanna keep you forever." Jonathan mused, in between his hungry licks into Steve's mouth.
Steve reached down to the space between their bodies, gripping Jonathan's cock with his hand. He brushed the head against his rim, and felt Jonathan shudder at the contact.
"You ready?" he asked, placing his other hand against Jonathan's chest.
Jonathan looked up, mesmerised. "I've never been more ready for anything in my life."
With that, Steve grinned, and slowly lowered himself onto Jonathan's dick, feeling the length slowly fill him as he whined.
"Holy fuck, Steve." Jonathan's eyes were as wide as saucers, and the way he was looking at Steve like he was a god made his head dizzy with want. "You're so tight, oh my god, please, fuck me." Johnathan was so polite, Steve thought. So good. Genuinely good. Not just to him, but to everyone. Steve's face split into a silly smile, and he began to rock his hips upward towards Jonathan, letting out small groans when he felt Jonathan's cock nudge deep inside of him. He gripped tighter onto Jonathan's chest, attempting to stabilise himself and prevent his muscles from turning to mush, while Jonathan's hands flew up to grip Steve's hips. Holding Steve down against him, like he was scared he would disappear, Jonathan bucked his hips upwards, meeting each of Steve's thrusts and reveling in the shameless whimpers that got out of the boy above him. Steve brought his second hand to rest against Jonathan's chest, and begun lifting himself up, before slamming back down on Jonathan's cock with a shaky groan. Jonathan felt that he was in heaven, and that Steve was his own personal angel, who would save his soul with the purity of his touch.
Jonathan panted as Steve moved above him, and the sounds of their skin slapping together, and the moans that escaped from their lips, was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. Steve's grinding became more frantic, sloppy, and his thighs were almost vibrating.
"Holy shit, Jonathan, s'too good, I can't-"
"Shh, hey, I've got you." Jonathan ran his hands up Steve's firm back, and pulled the boy down until his chest was flush with Jonathan's. Steve buried his face in the other man's neck, as Jonathan thrusted up into him with vigor, moving his hands down to grip Steve's ass. A part of him hoped that he left marks. Steve was a wreck, his whole chest flushed and sweaty, as he babbled incoherently into Jonathan's ear. Jonathan kissed the side of Steve's head before coming to an almost complete stop, dragging his hips slowly against Steve's. The brunette's body stutters in response, letting out a low, unrestrained moan that Jonathan hopes he remembers forever. "Ah, fuck, Jon, I can't, I'm gonna-"
Jonathan quickens his pace at that, and Steve nearly screams.
"It's okay," Jonathan pants, feeling a knot of heat coil in his own core, "cum for me. Let me hear you. Cum for me, Stevie."
Steve's entire body tenses, his hands clinging to Jonathan as he lets out a cry, before he's shaking, spilling hot white ropes between their stomachs. Jonathan follows soon after: he felt the clench of Steve's wet tightness around him as the boy came, and Jonathan was gone. The two boys collapsed into one another, bodies pressed close, nothing but the sound of their panting filling the room.
"Stevie, are you okay?" Jonathan whispered, bringing his hands up to pet Steve's hair.
"Yeah," the boy hummed, before lifting his face from the crook of Jonathan's neck, "you?".
"Yeah. I'm great. That was amazing."
Steve laughed. "You've got, like, a magic dick, Byers. Swear to god, I've never cum that hard in my life."
Jonathan giggles sweetly. "Yeah, me neither, I think."
He presses a kiss to Steve's nose, and watches a smile bloom across the boy's face.
"Can I pull out, Stevie? Should probably clean us both up."
Steve mumbles a noise of affirmation, before lifting himself off Jonathan's cock, moving to lay beside him on the mattress. Jonathan stands, and Steve can hear running water, as he fights to keep his eyes open. Really, he thinks he trusts Jonathan so much that he wouldn't be worried about falling asleep right here and now. Jonathan returns to the room, his own stomach clean and the condom discarded, holding a washcloth. Steve hums softly, and Jonathan comes to kneel on the floor beside the bed, wiping the damp fabric over Steve's stomach, over his dick and down to his ass, with a sensitivity that makes Steve want to scream. Jonathan litters the boy's torso with soft kisses, before moving on to attacking his face. Steve giggles, pretending to thrash under Jonathan's touch, when really he just wants to permanently melt into it.
"Be right back." Jonathan affirms, before he's back in the bathroom. He stops in the doorway as he steps out, flicking the lightswitch off. He lowers himself down onto his back, laying beside Steve in the bed and pulling the sheet over them both. Steve mumbles something, voice heavy with sleep, and Jonathan just wraps his arms around the brunettes' shoulders, holding him close. Steve hums happily, and when Jonathan brings his hand up to pet Steve's hair, he nuzzles into the touch with a soft smile.
"Night, Jon," Steve whispers.
"Night, Stevie." Jonathan presses a kiss to the base of Steve's neck, and tries to synchronise his breathing with that of the boy he holds. Jonathan feels amazing, but he is also exhausted. His heart turns when Steve makes little noises in his sleep, and as Jonathan's eyes fall shut, he knows he's learned one thing from this trip: he is so fucked.
When Jonathan's eyes open, he can see light flooding through the unclosed curtain, can hear the tap running in the bathroom, and can feel Steve humming to himself as he fixes his hair in the reflection of the mirror. He sits up, rubbing the sleep from his face, eyes fixed on Steve as he strides back through the doorway.
"Morning sunshine. I, uh- borrowed one of your shirts. Didn't think the "princess" tank top was the move for 8am. Hope that's okay." He flashes Jonathan a grin, and suddenly words seem to be running away from the taller boy.
"Yeah, no, that's- all good," Jonathan stumbles. Was last night a sick, perverted dream? Why was Steve acting totally normal, checking his pockets and throwing his coat on? Matter of fact, why was Steve already leaving?
"Steve?" Jonathan winced at how much his voice sounded like he was about to cry. Steve flicked his gaze to Jonathan, oblivious.
"Yeah, Jonathan?"
"I just, um-" Jonathan tried very hard to keep his gaze fixated on the carpet. "What does last night mean? For us?"
Steve gazed at Jonathan with such a soft, yet indecipherable expression. It made Jonathan want to scream.
"Jon, literally no matter what happens, you and I are going to be friends. We literally went to hell and back and spent years fighting monsters. Hate to break it to you, but you're stuck with me."
Normally, Jonathan would laugh at this comment. Under these circumstances he felt like he might throw up.
"Steve, that's not what I-"
"Anyways," Steve interrupted, "I'm meeting Robin in half an hour and you know how she can be, so, I- should probably be going."
Jonathan felt his heart fracture in his chest. Did last night really not mean anything for Steve? Jonathan swallowed and tried his best to not look like a kicked puppy dog, as Nancy used to call it.
"Okay." Jonathan blurted. Steve smiled, and it felt like he was pouring salt in an open wound.
"Call me when you're back in New York."
And just like that, he was gone. Like a ghost. And Jonathan was alone, naked in bed, and terribly, undoubtedly in love with a man who did not want him for more than that one life-altering night.