Steve had nothing to wear, which was not a problem that he was used to having. And, to be perfectly fair, if he was going anywhere else, he would have no trouble finding something to suit him. The issue was that he had nothing to wear to Eddie's show that night. And sure, he could wear his normal uniform of preppy polos and khaki pants and Eddie wouldn't care. He'd said as much when Steve asked him about dress code when he'd invited everyone above the age of 18 to the show the previous week. He's said that he was just overjoyed to have someone there who wasn't a geriatric drunk. Even more so that his friends would be in the crowd.
"Just scream extra loud for me, Big Boy," he cooed over the phone, the sound so close to Steve's brain that it rattled around in his skull.
And yeah. Sure. Steve believed him. Knew that if he showed up in his normal attire, Eddie wouldn't care. The band probably wouldn't either, more shocked to see Steve there at all, regardless of what he wore. But the thing was, he didn't just want to go and watch Eddie in his element. He wanted to feel like he belonged with Eddie in his element. He'd never heard Eddie play, never heard his band, but he knew that polos and chinos were probably not up to dress code for a metal show at a dive bar.
He started in his own closet with Robin, certain that he had some black button downs somewhere. And he did, way at the back, purchased for some event that he'd attended with his parents years ago. The issue with that was that he either paired it with a tank top underneath and looked like a gigglo, or buttoned all the way up and looked like a waiter. He'd even tried taking a page from Billy's book and leaving it unbuttoned to the navel, but then Robin gagged and followed that sound up with a bark of laughter and Steve clawed the offending garment off so fast he nearly tore the seams.
Needless to say, the black button down was out.
"I'll bet Eddie's got something for you to wear," Robin sighed, hanging the offending black button down back up on it's hanger from where Steve had thrown it on the floor in a huff. And... yeah... she was right. Eddie most definitely had something that Steve could wear. The man was a walking, talking, dramatizing billboard for both his band and the musical genre as a whole. The only issue was his size.
"There's no way anything that he has fits me, though," Steve sighed, hands on his hips as he stood in his closet in nothing but his boxers and frustration. "Man's a beanpole, I wouldn't even be able to get my thighs through the legs of his jeans."
"That's a weird thing to brag about," Robin hummed as she considered a particularly dark pair of jeans on Steve's hips but then shook her head and put them back. "So maybe just borrow a shirt?"
"Arms won't fit."
"Another strange thing to brag about, I do not understand men, but you could always borrow one of the shirts he cut the arms off of." She held another pair of lighter jeans up to his hips, sighed, and decided that those would do in the pinch they found themselves in. They weren't acid washed like Steve had seen Eddie wear before, but they were at least light enough to trick the eye of someone in the low lighting of the Hideout.
"Any chance you'll let me take a cheese grater and some scissor to these knees," Robin asked hopefully which... Steve understood the scissors, but why the cheese grater? What would those possibly do to the denim that scissors couldn't?
"Not a chance," Steve answered, snatching the clothing from Robin. "These are expensive jeans, and I'll still be wearing them after this."
"Well, nothing ventured, nothing artfully distressed, I suppose," Robin sighed as she turned back to Steve's closet. "We've sorted the bottom half of the outfit, but I think you're sunk on the top half. Sorry to say this babe, but you're wardrobe, impressive though it may be, is useless to us."
"You are not sorry to say that at all," Steve countered, hiking the pants up over his hips. Robin made a non-committal sound. "But you're also not wrong about Eddie's wardrobe. I may have not have a choice if I don't want to stick out like a sore thumb."
Not to mention that wearing Eddie's clothes warmed something soft and unexpected in his chest. He'd noticed it the first time he'd stayed the night at Wayne's trailer, sober, but too tired to want to drive home on his own. Eddie had tossed a faded band tee at him from his closet and a clean pair of boxers like it was nothing. Just tossed them over his shoulder and said he'd give Steve his privacy while he changed, that he needed a smoke anyway, so he'd be right out front.
And yeah, the arm holes were a little too snug, pinching at his arm pits uncomfortably all night, but the clothes smelled so strongly of weed and cigarettes and Eddie's shampoo and cologne that Steve didn't care. He hardly got any sleep that night, swaddled as he was in Eddie's blankets, in Eddie's bed, head resting on one of Eddie's pillows, wearing Eddie's clothes. They'd woken up spooning the next morning, both gravitating towards the center of the bed, but neither said a word about it. Eddie had simply patted Steve's hip and mumbled something about getting coffee going while he relaxed. Like this was a totally normal thing for them to do. And hell, maybe it was for Eddie. Everything else about him so so anti-establishment, he probably also happily bucked the societal norms of masculinity. Cuddling was probably no issue with him. Didn't send him into a panicked spiral of "does he, doesn't he" like it did Steve, who just laid on his back, breathing deep and controlled, until Eddie came back in asking if he'd nodded off again.
Steve wondered, as he drove across town to Eddie's shiny new government-provided RV, if the other man didn't think about the way they had woken up as frequently as Steve did.
Eddie had only had his RV for a few weeks, but he had set to work almost immediately making it look like home. There was already a flock of tacky pink flamingos lining the gravel walkway up to the door and a Corroded Coffin flag blocking view from the windshield. The windows themselves had a similar privacy treatments, with band posters and flyers taped to the glass facing outwards. Between that, the loud music blaring from Eddie's music system, and the pervasive scent of weed rolling out of the open door, there was no doubt who lived here.
Steve glanced across the way at Billy's RV, the exact opposite of Eddie's. The only sign that it was Billy who lived there was the half-filled out frame of a car resting on cinder blocks in the driveway. The man in question was only half visible under the half-deconstructed frame. A Camaro, Billy had announced excitedly when it arrived the previous week. Not the Camaro, of course, that having been long since totalled and presumably broken down for scrap. But one that was close enough.
Steve was half way across the gravel road before he knew what he was doing, pulled as always between the two men. Forever back and forth. Back and forth. And Steve was in no hurry to stop himself.
"That you, Harrington," Billy gruffed from beneath the half-hollow vehicle. "I'd like to think I'd know the sound of that Bimmer pulling up to Munson's, but..."
"Yeah it's me, don't cream yourself." Steve punctuated his statement with a gentle kick to Billy's booted foot. The other man chuckled and slid himself out, body sliding easily on the cardboard beneath him, and shot back, "tall order there, Pretty Boy, but I'll see what I can do about that."
Steve flushed for the second time. Billy was lewd, Steve knew that. Had always known that. Known it from the first time he'd waggled his tongue at girls in the hallways and pressed himself into their spaces to whisper lasivious nothings into their ears until they blushed. But having it directed at him, and while Billy was in a grease smeared tank top with smudges on his cheeks and hands and a fine sheen of sweat on his finely toned body? Steve had to turn his focus to the car instead of the hopelessly masculine things Billy was doing and the things those hopelessly masculine things was doing to Steve.
"I see you've got doors on her now," Steve grinned, extending a hand to Billy after he'd wiped off all the grease. Billy slapped the hand away with a toothy grin and hoisted himself up, muttering something about getting grease stains on "princesses pretty dress." Steve ignored the teasing as well as the way it quickened his heart and heated his cheeks.
"Yeah, No window glass though," Billy confirmed, tucking the rag back into his back pocket and turning to regard the car as a whole. "That'll arrive later this week, along with the back seats. Teaching Munson as I go..." Billy jerked his head to the RV across the way where Eddie had made his own home. "Critter's a fast learner. Already knows all the parts of the engine. Can hold his own under the body too..." there was fondness in Billy's voice that warmed Steve from head to toe.
Still the name tickled something soft and giggly inside of him and that giggle bubbled from his lips as he asked, "Critter?"
"Yeah," Billy motioned behind his shoulder at Eddie's RV in lieu of a verbal answer.
"I know who you're talking about, but Critter?" Steve didn't even bother to keep the bemusement out of his voice. "What bolt of twisted inspiration hit you to come up with that one?"
"Have you seen him?" Which... yeah. Yeah, now that Billy mentioned it... yeah. Forever unbrushed, unkempt, untamed Eddie fit the moniker of "Critter" pretty well when Billy put it that way.
"But I don't think King Steve came all the way out here to ask me about the way I choose nick names or to check up on my little arts and crafts project, did he?"
Steve faced Billy's woflish grin with one of his own, and answered just as smoothly, "and if he did? What then?" Even he was shocked with how even his tone was while he drowned in the scent of sweat and cologne. Billy put on cologne to work on his car? What a douche bag. Steve was over and done for.
"Well, then I'll just eat my hat if that's the case," Billy drawled, even adopting a slightly southern affect to his voice. More proof that he'd been hanging out more with Eddie, a concept that was striking Steve more and more with a feeling of being left out rather than one of jealousy. But he still wasn't inspecting that feeling too closely, and instead flicked one of Billy's curls and muttered, "Money says you don't even own a hat, Hargrove."
Billy's smile, which Steve that thought was wide enough, grew to cheshire proportions as he muttered back, "then I guess it's a good thing you didn't come here to check on the car, isn't it?"
Billy's breath was hot on Steve's lips. Like the breeze on a sweltering summer day, offering no relief, but leaving him desparate for it anyway. It smelled like mint and coffee, and Steve realized that coffee and gum was probably all Billy had to eat that day.
"Eyes aren't in my mouth, Pretty Boy," Billy scolded gently, puffing more of that unrelenting heat across Steve's lips. Steve hadn't even realized that he'd been staring, but could that really be his fault? With the way Billy flashed his teeth and the way he pinched the point of his tongue between his incisors. He was asking for people to stare. Billy Hargrove was a walking, talking advertisement for "look at me." And who was Steve to say no?
"Yeah, I know," Steve answered, entirely too suave for how hard his heart was thrumming in his chest. And clearly more so than Billy had expected, as the man barked out a laugh so loud that Steve visibly jumped. Which, in turn, made Billy laugh more as he clapped Steve on the shoulder so hard he had to take a step forward.
"So, what does bring you down my way," Billy asked, waving Steve into his RV. Just like the outside, there was nothing within to suggest that anyone in particular lived there. Take out menus hung on the fridge by generic magnets from local businesses. Paper plates, bowls, and utensils sat on the already too-small counter. The sink was currently a receptacle for empty beer and soda cans.
The only tell was the scent of aquanet and Billy's cologne hanging in the air.
"Came to ask Eddie for some help, actually," Steve answered as he took the offered beer can from Billy who collapsed onto the bench behind the driver's seat, legs and arms spread as per usual. Steve sat at the opposite bench, sitting side ways and fitting himself between the bench and the table it belonged to.
"Kid question or a nerd game question?" Punctuated by the hiss of Billy opening the can with one finger of the hand holding it. Another hopelessly masculine thing that sent Steve to the moon. He tried not to stare at the way Billy's hand easily manipulated the tab to the side and out of the way of his nose without ever letting go of the can. It was just that the ripple of the tendons and the dexterity of his fingers were too much and Steve was a weak man.
"Neither, actually," Steve recovered with a grin as he watched Billy's throat work to swallow his beer. Steve's grin grew as Billy caught his eye around the can, watching him watch Billy. "Clothes question. He said it didn't matter, but I don't think khakis and polos are going to be well received at the Hideout."
"I'll try not to take is personally that you asked Beanpole over there for fashion advice before me," Billy sighed, wiggling his hips down into his seat to settle like a happy cat. "You wearing those jeans?"
Instantly, Steve glanced at his own legs, selfconciously asking, "yeah, why?"
Billy's only answer was a small chuckle and a shake of his head. "Well, Critter won't have pants your size, so I'll have to provide those. He should have a shirt that doesn't have a collar on it. Go talk to him first." He ran the cool metal of the can down the side of his throat as he spoke, still watching Steve as Steve tracked the motion.
"Wha... what's wrong with these," Steve asked, too quietly and too slowly. Billy only grinned again and ran the can up the other side of his throat before resting it on his shoulder.
"Those are prep jeans." Like it was so obvious. And like yeah... they were. But Billy didn't have to say it like... like that. But then Billy smiled at him all soft and sweet like he sort of liked the fact that they were prep jeans and Steve forgot to be offended. "I'll find you something nice for the ball, Princess, don't worry," the blonde muttered around the lip of his can and Steve warmed at the newly-familiar feeling those words sent swimming around in his guts and his skull.
Billy rose with a groan, a sound far too old for the body it came out of.
"Take your beer, take one for Critter too," he held a can from the fridge out to Steve. "And by the time you come back I should be able to get you fixed up with something."
As much as Steve loved it when Billy did what Steve told him to, as deeply as it warmed him, doing what Billy instructed warmed something very similar inside of him. Warmed the same place following Eddie's instructions did. The same way he went gooey when Eddie nodded when he watched Steve do what he was told, he went gooey as Billy tracked his motions in following his direction. And the little nod of approval Billy gave him when he lifted the offered can of beer meant everything. Just like the smile on Billy's lips when he squeezed Steve's wrist as he passed off the beer, and murmured, "see you in a minute, Stevie" meant everything.
Steve flushed, it felt, from head to toe at the praise and shuddered under the weight of Billy's gaze. Suddenly it was far too hot in the RV. Hotter than it should have been, even given that it was un-air conditioned at noon in the summer. Because Billy was right there. Squeezed in with Steve in the narrow space provided by the RV, close enough for Steve to feel the phantom brush of Billy's chest against his. Close enough to choke on the scent of his cologne and his sweat. Close enough that Steve wanted to lean in and breathe that scent in right from his neck. Wanted to bury his nose in the spot where his throat met his shoulder and just inhale every fantastically masculine scent his body had to offer.
He could, Steve realized. He could lean in and do just that. It wouldn't even really be a lean. More like a tip. All he would have to do would be to relax his neck a little. Let his head dip forward and he'd be there. He could even kiss him, he was so close. Had they never been this close before? Close enough that it took more effort to stand apart than it would to just fall into each other? Close enough to share body heat and air?
Blood rushed from Steve's brain directly south, making him dizzy with the force and the speed of it.
"Eyes aren't in my mouth, Steve," and there was something in the use of his name that made Steve moan. Not a lot. Not wontonly. But just enough that Billy heard. And Steve knew he heard. Knew it because his eyes widened a fraction and his lips, which Steve had, indeed, been shamelessly staring at, parted to catch the sound on his tongue.
And then Billy was leaning forward. Closing those fractions of inches to meet Steve in the middle. Steve's lips tingled with the anticipation of touch, parted to accept anything Billy would give him. He drew in a breath as he waited for Billy to close the gap. Waited for the feeling of his chapped lips on Steve's. Even let his eyelids soften and nearly shut in anticipation.
But then Billy's breath hit his ear, shocking his eyes open, and he murmured, "go see Critter and get yourself fixed up."
Then Billy was gone, chuckling under his breath as he made his way back to the back of his RV. Instead of making Steve feel foolish, however, as he was fully prepared to feel, something else curled and wiggled around in his guts. Something like anticipation but... hotter. Something that he didn't have a name for, but wanted to understand. But instead of inspecting it, he did what he always did. He took a deep breath, willed the blood back to his brain, and recentered himself.
Outside, the summer air felt almost cool compared to where Steve had just been, and Steve was thankful for that. He took a deep, greedy lungful of air, trying to clear the scent of man from his nose so that he could think. The trek across the road to Eddie's was short, but it was enough to have his heartrate under control and his pants fitting a little better around the front.
Steve didn't even bother to knock as he entered, hadn't even bothered starting the habit, instead calling out Eddie's name to announce his arrival. The door was already open anyway, a fan blocking the entrance in the absence of air conditioning. Steve stepped over it easily and began making his way to the back of the RV where Eddie's socked feet were strewn across the doorway to the bedroom.
Eddie's head, hair damp from his shower, poked out from the back where his bed was nestled up against one of the walls. His eyes were glassy with the effects of the weed that still hung in the air, and Steve felt himself go soft in the middle at the sight. He looked so sweet and confused. So soft and open. Steve kinda wanted to bully him about it, but he kinda wanted to kiss him about it too. Maybe Eddie would respond to both.
After a moment of hazy processing, Eddie's pretty face broke into a dimpled smile as he drawled, "Steeeeeeeve Harringtooooooon" like he was savoring every last phoneme and syllable.
Or maybe Steve was just projecting.
Steve raised the beer in his hand in lieu of a greeting, barely containing his laughter as Eddie stumbled, all arms and legs and clad only in a pair of denim cut offs, out of his bed and into the narrow corridor between the kitchen and the "bedroom." He pinballed comically the whole way, like the tight quarters of the RV couldn't possibly contain the ball of energy that was Eddie Munson.
"Didn't think I'd see you until show time, tonight," Eddie grinned, eyes glassy and blown wide, his breath and skin scented heavily of weed. Steve only barely resisting leaning in and taking a deep breath, no matter how much the smell made his mouth water. He could just about make out the scent of Eddie's 3-in-1 shampoo too, beneath the herbal scent of his smoking. There was a crease in his cheek that looked suspiciously like a pillow case seam.
"Were you asleep, man," Steve laughed, catching Eddie as he barreled straight into Steve's arms. Eddie only hummed, letting his whole weight sink into Steve with his arms and very nearly his legs wrapped around him.
"Over-estimated my consumption threshold," Eddie answered cryptically, nuzzling his face into Steve's shoulder as he spoke. "Not sure when I fell asleep, but I woke up with the joint burning my lips." The vibration of Eddie's voice tickled the sensitive skin of his neck and sent a shiver down his spine. He shifted a little, trying to peel himself away for his own self preservation -- he'd only just escaped Billy, and Steve wasn't certain he could mitigate Eddie so close on the heels of that -- but the other man only snuggled in closer. If Steve would have let him, he was fairly certain that Eddie would have climbed him and koala-style wrapped himself around him.
And Steve didn't hate that idea.
It just wasn't the right time for it.
So instead, Steve guided Eddie towards the bench behind the driver's seat of the RV, carefully pried him off despite the argumentative groans, and gently lowered him down. The pinch of Eddie's face as he pouted was adorable and Steve kind of wanted to kiss it.
"Thought you were meant to be preparing for the show tonight," Steve chided with a smile as he filled Eddie's two-cup coffee maker. The beer from Billy would keep in the fridge, and Eddie didn't need anything else making him fuzzy before tonight.
"It's bad form to question the process, Stevie-Boy." Eddie mirrored Steve's tone but added a waggling finger. "Still got like..." he checked his watch. "Four hours until I have to show up to practice. Another two after that before the show." He blew a raspberry into the air. "Plenty of time to sober up enough to shred."
He closed his eyes after that, and Steve wondered if he didn't fall asleep again, propped up against the back of the bench with his head reclined back against the window behind him. The angle exposed the whole long line of his throat, leaving it open for anyone to ogle. Or touch. Or...
The coffee machine gurgled to life behind Steve, rousing both Steve from his thoughts and Eddie from his pseudo-nap.
"And where are my manners," he scolded himself. "Here I am, more than half naked and less than half sober and I haven't even asked I can can do ya for." He turned his face to meet Steve's with a goofy, hazy, lazy smile that knocked Steve clean off his feet.
"So. What can I do ya for, Big Boy?"
For a moment, Steve completely forgot what he had even come for. Eddie was smiling at him, blinking those huge, brown, owly eyes at him so slowly with a smile that dripped all over his face like honey and his brain went blank. Thank god Eddie was high as a kite, because there was no way he'd get away with the sudden silence had he been sober.
"Uhh... A... shirt. I came for a shirt."
Eddie, if he noticed the stuttering, said nothing about it. He only gestured to his own bare chest and said, "afraid you came to the wrong place, compadre." Steve was helpless against the wya his eyes followed the track Eddie's gesture had laid out for him. He'd gotten the demon face redone in the last weeks and it was peeling as it healed. It looked good. Eddie looked good.
Steve, to his credit, only stumbled over himself a little before Eddie laughed at his own joke and gestured to the back of the RV, saying, "go, take. What's mine is yours, Big Boy." He even rose to usher Steve back to his bedroom. "Make sure to sniff it first. Laundry is done at Wayne's, and I'll be honest, I haven't been able to make it over there this week."
And it was gross. It was disgusting and nasty and gross, but Steve almost wanted to seek out Eddie's dirtiest shirt and slip it over his body. Wanted to smell as strongly of Eddie's soap and his sweat and his weed as possible. Wanted to lift the collar to his nose and smell him as clearly as if it were his own skin. He suddenly wanted to same of Billy's jeans. Kind of hoped that Billy would peel the jeans he was currently wearing off his legs and hand them over to Steve still warm from his skin. He wanted to smell so strongly of both of them that he couldn't escape it. Even in the throes of the show tonight, he still wanted to only smell Eddie and Billy.
Eddie interrupted Steve's thoughts by sliding past him, flattening his back against the wall to do so. It was so fast that Steve didn't have time to appreciate the closeness like he had with Billy, be he was able to appreciate the chaos of Eddie diving down to reach under his bed for, presumably, a shirt. As usual, he was all limbs and joints and comical gracelessness. He dropped to his belly like he was shot and then shimmied until he was half under the bed, a strange inversion of Billy's positioning under his car. He might have gotten further under the bed had he not insisted on keeping his knees under him. As it was, however, he had they splayed far past hip width to try and dip himself lower, the arc of his back working miracles for the shape of the ass he left sticking up into the air.
Steve was struck with the familiar urge to slap it, and only managed to contain himself by shoving his hands into his back pockets.
"This should go with your prep jeans," Eddie huffed as he shimmied out from beneath the bed with exactly as much grace as he dove under it. Once his arms were free, he held aloft a white teeshirt with the sleeves and bottom hem torn off. Steve held it up to himself and saw that it only went down to his navel. Below him, Eddie was grinning and it was all teeth and it was absolutely a threat. It made Steve's mouth run dry and forget all about the "prep jean" jab.
"Billy is lending me some jeans," Steve answered stupidly, leaving the shirt in Eddie's offered hand. This, of course, only caused Eddie's smile to turn sharper and his eyes to grow suddenly far more alert than they had been a moment before. When he rose, it was with the grace of a cat, all languid and slow. So unlike the way he had been moving a moment before. It made Steve wonder which was Eddie's natural way of moving? Or were they both natural for him?
"Well, isn't that just an interesting little development," Eddie crooned, leaning far enough into Steve's space that he could smell the weed on Eddie's breath. Not so close as Billy had been, but close enough to halt Steve's breath in his lungs. Enough to stall his voice in his throat as he squeaked out an answering, "erm... yep. Totally... totally interesting."
It was blood in the water, Steve knew. The pitch of his voice and the way it shook on his lips. The stammers and the sticks as it left his throat. Eddie sniffed at the weaknesses and grinned somehow even more predatorily. Steve suddenly felt like he was staring down a shark. A shark that had scented prey and knew exactly where it was and how to get it. Eddie stepped himself up to meet Steve, pushing into his personal space like he always did, and yet it was so different this time. So different because he was the first time since the pool party that they had been alone and now Eddie was in his space, close enough to smell and Steve was salivating for it. Choking for it.
Eddie opened his mouth to speak and Steve was ready to agree to anything.
Except the shrill crying of the coffee maker cut off whatever Eddie was going to say and wiped away whatever had begun to swelter between the two of them. Eddie cleared off and went to attend to the coffee and Steve suddenly felt more in his rational mind. His brain cleared so swiftly that it left him dizzy, or maybe that was the contact high of whatever was on Eddie's skin and hair and breath. Yeah, that was probably it.
"You gunna stick around for a while," Eddie asked as he fished out two mug from the cabinets above the tiny kitchenette. He sniffed them both, deliberated for a moment, and then shrugged. "Could use the company before the show. I tend to get in my own head if I'm left on my own."
Steve glanced across the way, watching Billy bend himself nearly in two under the hood of his junker.
"We could go pull up some chairs and bother Billy," Steve offered. Eddie followed his gaze and smiled again, all dimples and all trouble.
"Sounds like a plan to me."