Archive of Our Own

“Is he getting the coke, or not?”

Steve loves his best friends, but honestly they’re so goddamn annoying sometimes. It shouldn’t be a hard question for Carol to answer. And it’s an important one. Steve’s Halloween party is shaping up to be massive. It’s not just anyone who’s anyone in Hawkins streaming through his double doors. It’s likely even the Racers and the Spartans and the Bears will come in from Blaine and Rockford and Walsh County. Jimmy sold him a few ounces of weed -at a great price, as much as that matters- and a pan of tainted brownies for the athletes who don’t want to smoke. Evelyn’s cousin hooked them up with the kegs as per usual. Steve’s not sure Corey’s ever sold a single keg to someone legal, honestly, but he’s not spitting on a handshake. But he doesn’t have a line on the coke yet, no pun intended. Steve doesn’t even like coke, particularly. He’d much rather just smoke. But you can’t throw the best party of the year without a line to the bathroom for lines on the rim of the bathtub.

But Carol’s just smirking at him, like it’s not a serious component of his party planning. “Stop stressing. You’re going to get worry lines, and then who will love you?”

Steve hangs his hand over the top of her locker door, and rests his head against his elbow. She’s been friends with him for too long for his puppy dog eyes to work, and she’s a cold bitch besides, not one to fold for anyone’s emotions, but it’s second nature to deploy them.

“Alright, alright,” Carol pretends to give in. “If you put a paper bag over your head, me and Tommy will always love you. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Carol, this is serious. I’m not having Ken Brosy and Viola McGarett telling everyone my party was lame because they didn’t have a bump to offset the booze and passed out early.” It’s a lot of pressure to be throwing the Halloween party. He’s already thinking about ceding the honor to Linda or Tina next year. Let them worry for a week straight about having everything perfect.

“Stevie, seriously, don’t worry,” Carol says, finally taking him seriously enough to lightly slap his exposed cheek. “Tommy’s got it. He always gets the real drugs.”

It’s not like Steve’s some delicate straight edge flower. Weed in the amount he’s temporarily holding is intent to distribute, should he be caught. It’s just, ever since Tommy scored them their first joint in middle school, it’s been his job to interact with the shadier people. Steve doesn’t mind puffing out his chest and using his status as a shield, but Tommy’s great at bullheading his way through a situation lesser men would cower at.

“Did he tell you who he’s picking up from?” There are only so many options in Hawkins, but it’d be no skin off of Tommy’s nose to drive to another county, or even the city. For the most part Steve drives them, he’s got the best car, but Tommy likes an excuse to get behind the wheel. Sometimes Steve pretends he’s drunker than he is, to throw Tommy a bone.

“Chantal’s parents found her stash, so I’m thinking the Freak?” Carol shrugs, perfectly cut Jean jacket barely shifting. “Does it matter? He’ll have it in your locker by homeroom tomorrow.”

Steve doesn’t remind her that Tommy could drop it off tonight. His parents haven’t been home in two weeks, and they’re not due back until two days after the party, giving him plenty of time to clean up. That, Steve appreciates. Fixing up a house mid-hangover is the worst. The bone chilling quiet is less fun, when he can’t fill it with friends coming over, but he’s not a fuckin’ baby. If Tommy doesn’t want to come over, knowing full well that he can, Steve’s not about to beg.

After getting out of the way so she can lock her combination, Steve carries Carol’s books to the car. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do. Back in middle school people would have used it to start a rumour that Carol was going to dump Tommy for him, but everyone’s beyond that now. A possibly slightly romantic gesture is nothing compared to the obvious lust of locker room talk. Carol’s girlfriends, the Tigers, everyone knows just how devoted to each other Carol and Tommy are. Steve could comb her hair, buy her lunch, even sling an arm around her shoulder. It doesn’t matter.

They blast the radio on the way to the Perkins house. It’s fun, singing along as they keep an eye out for people in the other lane watching them, making sure they don’t embarrass themselves. Carol’s got a good voice. She could be in choir, if it wasn’t so lame. Steve pulls to an idle in front of the sprawled out ranch house, but Carol just leans over to kiss his cheek before opening the passenger side door, so he drives away. It’s fine, not being invited. He’ll find something else to do.

He rolls his eyes at himself as he takes the left that’ll swing him towards Forest Hills Trailer Park. Logically speaking, he knows Tommy’s fine. Steve’s seen him kick ass a hundred times over the years, pulverize guys much bigger than twiggy little Munson. Still, he doesn’t like Tommy being on his own. The Freak’s like a Satanist or some shit. Steve’s not really a church attender, but anyone could tell you there’s a huge difference between absence and actually spitting in God’s eye. Tommy’s supposed to be varsity, he can’t afford Munson giving him the evil eye or something.

Visually speaking, the trailer park doesn’t seem as bad as he thought it’d be. There are no charred cars, or cars up on cinderblocks, orange with rust on the sections that haven’t been stripped for parts. There are tin can ashtrays on some of the porches, but no needles or meth pipes. There are no donuts ripped into the scrubby grass from a giddy stolen car joyride. Hell, a few trailers even have planter boxes to rival Mrs Clements down his block, and as a trophy wife she has all day to tend to her garden. Steve’s never given much thought to trailer park life besides ‘gross’, but it’s really not that bad. Not half as bad as Dad claims it to be, during his ritual morning rant of whatever’s pulling Hawkins and the world into the gutter for the day.

He doesn’t know Munson’s address, because why would he? Jimmy’s on the basketball team, he’s trustworthy, and always has weed. He’s the only dealer Steve needs. That said, it’s easy to guess which trailer is Munson’s. Even if it didn’t have his shitty van parked out front, it’s the only trailer with noisy metal music blasting from every window. It’s not like in Loch Nora, where the houses are spread out enough to grant people privacy in whatever they choose to do. Some of these trailers you could touch by reaching out the window of the next. Munson’s neighbours must love him.

Usually Steve would shout as he opened the door. It’s just good manners. Even at house parties it’s important to make your presence known, so people can start orbiting around you. But this is a bad area of town. It wouldn’t surprise Steve if Munson had a gun. Steve doesn’t want to startle the drug dealer and get shot.

It’s pure instinct that continues to keep Steve’s mouth shut as he takes in the scene directly in front of him. He hasn’t been heard yet, creak of the door opening nothing compared to the angry metal blaring. Hasn’t been spotted yet, either, despite being bracketed to the left by the door and right by the wrought iron railing. Both parties are too distracted. There’s still a chance he can get away without anyone knowing. And Steve really really doesn’t want them to know. Maybe some people could handle getting caught without freaking out. Munson probably appreciates every opportunity to be gawked at. He does his freak shit on purpose. But Tommy? It’s either lash out or lash in, and Steve no more wants to get his ass beaten for daring to see than he wants Tommy to go home and fucking hang himself in the garage.

There’s no mistaking what’s happening. Eddie’s got a skull covered metal shirt on, sleeves cut off to show off his ribs despite it being October. It’s the only thing he’s wearing. Tommy is fully dressed, but doesn’t seem to care about the difference, more interested in sprinkling a line of coke onto Eddie’s right thigh, inches away from his erection. It’s not the neatest work Steve’s seen; Anna Miller can make lines with such precision she should be an architect when she grows up. But it’s not like Tommy’s going to take a razor to Eddie’s thigh, is he.

Eddie’s looking down on him, hand loosely clamped on the back of Tommy’s head, still enough give to allow for the horizontal movement of taking the rail. He looks like a king, like he’s only getting what he deserves. Like it’s only right that Tommy goes instantly from snorting the last of the line to inhaling his cock, not even stopping to wipe the residue off his nostrils. Eddie’s not Steve’s type, but probably a lot of people would be into this rockstar shit. If Eddie ever gets out of Hawkins there might be a lineup outside his tour bus waiting for just this experience. Steve wouldn’t have put Tommy in that line, but the evidence is pretty fucking clear.

The best solution is to run. Tommy doesn’t want to talk about this, and neither does Steve. This isn’t the kind of thing people talk about. So he takes a step back, and another, until he’s clear of the door’s swing. As long as he can get to his car unseen there’s no reason to ever mention this. Steve loves Carol, but she doesn’t need to know. If this is who Tommy really is, it’s not Steve’s place to tell anybody, or even make him face the reality of Steve knowing.

It’s the weather that fucks him, in the end. It’s been a pleasant autumn, thank god. Tommy might have to suffer the football field no matter the rain or wind, but at least he’s in constant motion. He and Carol suffer far more in the stands. The gust of October air that forces the door to slam shut isn’t even all that cold, it’s just too sudden for Steve to react to in time. The door reverberates in the frame, and Steve does the smartest thing he can. He books it for the car, and takes off. Absolutely nothing good will come from Tommy, coked out of his mind and terrified, running out of the trailer and finding him on the lawn.

There are a dozen places Steve could go as he jams his foot on the gas pedal. That’s the benefit of popularity. It doesn’t matter how frequently his father’s hatred of him leaves him jetting away, Mom trailing in his wake so he doesn’t fuck yet another woman in a pencil skirt, leaving the house silent with their absence, because Steve’s got so many friends and wanna be girlfriends he never has to go home. He could go knock on Christian or Blake or Terrence’s doors. He could go to the bowling alley, or Benny’s Diner, or Greer Park. Even hit up Hawkins High pool, or the weight room. He knows people everywhere.

Where he goes is home. He’s gotten off in the living room before. The couch; the perfect place for girls who don’t want to be a slut asking the location of a bedroom, but who still want a boy’s hands under her clothes. Steve considers it as he unlocks the door, but it’s a little too similar to the scene he’s just left. It’s not like he wants to roleplay. Instead Steve makes it all the way upstairs to his bedroom before shoving his hand down his jeans.

Tommy’s a good looking guy. all the girls at school agree. He’s popular for a reason, and only a little bit of it is other guys finding him intimidating. Steve had no right to see what he saw, but there’s no question that he looked good doing it. Steve grips himself and thinks about it, Tommy on his knees, mouth stretched wide. In reality, Steve was standing at the wrong angle to see much more than Eddie manhandling the back of Tommy’s bobbing head. Now, leaning against the plaid wallpaper with his jeans halfway down his thighs, Steve can see it all, from Tommy’s watering eyes to the bulge of his cheek.

It shifts, as all fantasies do. Even as just a fantasy Steve feels bad about the cheating. He’d never ruin one friend’s life in service to the other, he’ll never tell Carol about Tommy, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. It’s better, it’s hotter if Carol and Tommy are on either side of Munson on the ratty old couch, taking turns sucking him off. It’s not like Carol’s not well equipped for it. And Steve doesn’t just know that from the stories Tommy’s told the guys. He’s Carol’s best friend too, and she’s never been one for false modesty. From how she’s bragged, he has to believe she’s an oral master. Steve, more than most, can appreciate a quality blowjob.

It’s good, in his brain, his best friends working over Eddie. Steve’s well aware of just how little gag reflex Tommy has, they’ve been through a dozen gnarly ‘dare you to eat that’ dares in their lives. Eddie can really push in deep, paint his tongue and palate with precome. Carol doesn’t give up as much control, because it’s impossible to even imagine. She doesn’t let Eddie direct her head, she takes on the lascivious rhythm all on her own. A church girl she is not. Unless you count those weirdly slutty catholic girls who only do anal to preserve their pussy for Jesus or whatever. Carol’s not exclusively into kinkier sex, but considering how much Steve knows about his best friend’s sex lives, he knows sharing a dick isn’t out of the question. He just figured it would be a normal threesome, two girls and a guy.

Steve comes quickly, spilling over his fingers. A few tissues clean up the mess well enough that he doesn’t bother heading to the shower. He might want to get a swim in later, and washing your hair too often isn’t good for it.

A confrontation is all but inevitable, Steve knows as he pulls into the student parking lot the next day. Tommy’s going to need to reassert his power, make sure Steve is too scared to tell anyone. He wouldn’t, he has no interest in blabbing whatsoever, but Tommy won’t feel certain until he gets a few brutal threats out. The best thing Steve can do is play up his submission. Take a punch, if he needs to. Whatever will help Tommy.

Steve’s so busy planning out how he’ll deal with Tommy that he doesn’t see Munson coming. Literally. Munson propels himself around the side of a van that’s definitely not the ugly piece of shit he owns, and plants himself directly in Steve’s way. If his reflexes were any less honed, Steve might have crashed into him.

“You know it’ll be worse for your boy than me if you tell everyone,” Munson declares. Steve doesn’t like, like, basically everything about the weirdo, but he will give him this: he never acts like he’s scared of upsetting people with the means to wreck him.

Steve rolls his eyes. “No shit. I’m sure half the school already thinks you’re a cocksucker.”

“You’re not wrong, King Steve. So, planning on beheading the Duke of your court?”

For all that the words sound like a joke, or a jibe, Munson’s biting his fingernails. It’s strange, seeing the concern in Munson’s eyes. Steve’s good at reading people, it’s a crucial part of maintaining his popularity, and he could swear that the Freak’s not just worried about if Steve is going to beat him up. Does Eddie actually give a shit about Tommy? Steve’s kind of surprised the Freak lowered himself to give time to a popular jock, but to be fair there are only so many options in Indiana. Tommy must be the least offensive, despite his Gap shirt and baseball muscles.

“I’m not telling anybody anything,” Steve answers. “It’s no one’s goddamn business. So put away your black candles and spell book, okay.”

Munson pulls some of his long hair to his mouth. As per usual, he is incapable of shutting the fuck up, and taking things as they are. “You’re not not telling because you actually think I’m going to actually hex you, right?”

Why does Munson care why he’s not? Normal people would just not look a gift horse in the mouth. Unfortunately Steve is forced to interact with the biggest weirdo in Hawkins. “You’re a gay Satanist, or you’re not. I don’t care. It’s not my fucking business, it’s no one’s fucking business except the dude you’re nailing. I’m not saying shit because I don’t care. Can you fuck off now, before people think I’m hanging out with the Freak?”

“Can, and will. The King’s not exactly good for my rep either. Thanks, I guess. Does Miss Manners advocate for thanking for common decency these days?”

Munson doesn’t stick around to make him answer. He walks off still talking to himself, like he’s in the middle of composing one of his stupid-ass table rants. Good for him. As long as it’s about manners in corrupt society or whatever in general, and not specifically about King Steve deigning to do him a favour, Steve doesn’t care. No one listens to that shit at lunch period, unless it has name drops people can gossip about.

This semester Steve doesn’t have study hall with Carol and Tommy. Up until now it’s been lamented as a lost opportunity. Having study hall first period like they do is perfect. Attendance is still taken, but forty five minutes free at the beginning of the day is forty five minutes to get homework done last minute, or sleep off a hangover. Today settling into the library second period is a relief, because it lets Tommy skip Applied Math and get this over with.

“Hey, man,” Steve says as casually as he always would as Tommy strides up to him, fists shoved into the pockets of his letterman jacket.

“Left my notebook somewhere. Help me find it?” Tommy says between gritted teeth. Steve would dock him points for not being able to fake tone, but he gets it. This is probably as civil as Tommy can be right now.

It’s no surprise that Tommy pulls him into one of the private rooms in the library. If one of the three hadn’t been empty, Tommy would have dragged the nerd occupying it out by the hair. They’re not fully soundproof, but as long as Tommy doesn’t start yelling at him full blast they should be okay.

“So I don’t know what you think you saw last night-” Tommy snarls.

Steve doesn’t want to do this part, this bit where they pretend it didn’t happen at all. for everyone else that’ll work, but it’s not a long term solution for them. Even if Steve goes with it now, Tommy’s just going to get stuck in a place of paranoia that Steve will come to his senses and ‘realise’ what he’s covering up. He’ll be upset forever.

“It’s not that weird,” he says, instead of immediately backing down and saying he didn’t see anything.

It’s a calm statement, but in Tommy’s blaring klaxon of a brain, everything is provocative. “Really.”

“Yeah.”

“Really,” Tommy repeats, angrier.

“Yeah,” Steve answers, trying to dump as much of a ‘duh’ in his tone as he can. Not that Tommy’s in much of a mood for parsing emotions right now. That’s always been more in his and Carol’s repertoire.

“Shut the fuck up!” Tommy shouts, pushing his chest. Steve allows the stumble, doesn’t shove back the way he would with so many other guys. In Tommy’s eyes he’s mocking him, so he gets it.

He gets it, but he doesn’t want to play this out. There’s less than a week left until his Halloween party. He doesn’t feel like playing Spin The Bottle with a split lip and black eye. Ugh. Looks like they will be getting into this. Steve wanted to avoid this, but he’s not letting Tommy feel so upset he has to kick his ass. “No, really. I’ve sucked dick too.”

That short circuits Tommy’s brain, as intended. His natural instinct is to assume Steve is still mocking him, pretending something deviant is commonly practiced, but no guy in their right mind would say those words under any circumstances, teasing or not. He’s left with scowling and crossing his arms over his chest menacingly. “No fucking way you have.”

“More than once,” Steve volleys.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“There’s a cruising spot in Abilene Park. Most of the cars are scrubby, or the guys look desperate. But there’s this one guy. Burgundy Lincoln Continental, always spotless. Tall, thin, kinda old, salt and pepper hair but not in a sad way. Always in a nice suit. Bossy, but he knows how to make it good. He’s a wannabe sugar daddy, I guess, because afterwards he’s always giving me cash and candy. Like I’m not a Harrington. I dunno. Maybe he doesn’t know. Not like I know his status, or job, or name. Not really the point of cruising.”

“You’re fuckin’ serious,” Tommy says flatly. His system is going into cooldown mode, it’s as easy to see on him as someone tapering from sprint to jog on the court. Not quite at the level of calm enough to return to class, or even slouch down into the provided seating, but he’s not in Steve’s face anymore. Progress.

“More than once,” Steve repeats, shrugging. “Any time you see me eating a piece of saltwater taffy, it’s from him.”

Tommy takes an obvious second to think of all the times since freshman year he’s picked through a bag of taffy in search of a peach or watermelon, or a grape to toss to Carol. “Were you ever going to tell us?”

Now that’s a stupid question. Steve scoffs. “Of course not. Duh. Were you ever going to tell?”

It should be the perfect retort, highlighting Tommy’s hypocrisy in a way that makes him not need to talk about this anymore. Except Tommy surprises him for the first time since Steve’s discovery last night. “Carol knows.”

“What? And she hasn’t murdered you?” Unless he’s vastly mistaken, the girl Steve knows would tear Tommy to shreds.

Tommy settles into a lean against the graffitied wooden desk, arms once again crossed over his chest. “Says it doesn’t count as cheating because she knows. And that it’s not gay, because I only do it when I’m high.”

Well that doesn’t seem entirely right. “I don’t think it matters if you’re fucked up or sober, I think it’s still pretty gay. But I also don’t think that matters. I think most people are into both, they just know better than to mention it. Can you imagine Justin Carver ever admitting to sucking dick, even if he loves it?”

“His family would beat him to death with their bibles. Jessamae, Jason, even the toddler, whatever the fuck her name is.”

“Jory-Lyn.” Steve had her in Toddler Float hour at the pool in the summer. Jessamae, home from Baylor, was a nightmare woman not worth flirting with, but Jory-Lyn was cute. At four the religious programming isn’t quite as bad, and she was almost like Val Epps or Holly Wheeler, except in a one piece bathing suit because the cute little baby two pieces with flamingos and polka dots somehow make the other preschoolers look like sluts, according to Jessamae. Gross.

“Look, it’s easy,” Steve goes on when Tommy doesn’t continue the fun Carver lunatic bashing. It’s usually a pretty good topic to gossip over, but Tommy’s obviously not in the mood yet, still too uncertain, despite Steve equalizing them. “We just don’t talk about it again. We don’t need to. It doesn’t matter. You’re Tommy Hagan, I’m Steve Harrington. We know who we are, and it’s not what we do sometimes when no one is looking. No one coming to my party knows we suck dick, and that’s what counts.”

The sentiment gets them a long way. It gets them through the rest of the day, through sitting down at lunch knowing Carol knows and even encourages it despite all the scorn she heaps on people dumb enough to get cheated on. It gets them through his awesome Halloween party, where Steve doesn’t waste his time doing lines, just finds a babe -in this case, Nancy Wheeler, from the school newspaper- to make out with, and doesn’t wonder if Tommy’s with Carol or some random guy. It gets them all the way to pitching the idea of a pool party when his parents go away yet again, and Tommy asking if they need him to pick anything up. And then it’s weird, because Steve knows, and Tommy’s definitely told Carol so they both know he knows, even though they’ve all been careful to not talk about it.

The answer is no. Steve’s not sure if he’s supposed to give Tommy an excuse, permission, or not, sending him out to the trailer park, but the answer is literally no. There’s not a chance Nancy or her nerdy tag along friend want hard drugs. Or drugs of any kind. If Nancy’s ever smoked a joint or done rows of shots he’ll eat his basketball jersey.

He eats his words, later. Tuesday night, and Tommy and Carol have been over for hours, since school let out, when the doorbell rings. He swings open the double doors to Nancy looking gorgeous in her tight fitting sweater. Steve would pay to peel it off with his teeth. She’s dressed for a night of flirting, and it starts as soon as she watches his throat as he shotguns a beer. Steve’s seen the expression people make when they want to give him a hickey, or when Silver Fox wants to choke him a little, and Nancy’s wearing it as yearningly as all the others he’s let do what they want have. She denies the smooth minimal gulps impressing her, and calls him a cliche, but when he passes her a can and the knife, she takes it. Nancy is not the type to be told she can’t get something done.

“I got it,” she shrugs off as he tries to give her technical advice. The confidence in her tone makes Steve smile. He likes girls that take control of their own situations. He can protect and take the first step forward whenever he needs to, but girls who don’t always need him to are more attractive.

“Yeah, she’s smart, you douche,” Tommy goads as Carol makes a face at him. Tommy crunches his empty can against his forehead and tosses it to the brickwork, and Nancy punctures the can and lifts it to her mouth.

Steve immediately gets out his flask and lifts it in her honor. She might not be able to get the whole thing down in one sitting, but he won’t have her feeling embarrassed about it. Training for these things takes time, and opportunity. He’s been doing this for years, meanwhile he’s still sure this is pretty close to her first drink. Tommy and Carol show their own support, chanting ‘chug’ with him as she gets the liquid down.

Steve sits up straighter in the lawn chair as Nancy gets closer and closer to completion. She’s exceeding expectations, and why is he even surprised? The Weekly Streak was dead in the water before Nancy forced everyone to resurrect it last year, and now she’s main editor. Nancy Wheeler gets shit done. Tommy howls as Nancy drops the can to the brick, the empty tin clatter telling her story. Carol claps before taking a drag of her cigarette. And Steve just really wants to throw her down on the patio stairs and make out with her, lick all the American Colonial out of her mouth. Goddamn, she’s hot.

The only one of them to have not had a drink is Barb, and once Nancy’s done curtsying, she begins to get to work on the problem. Barb puts up a token protest, but within a minute takes the can Nancy’s handing at her.

Unfortunately for her, her skills aren’t as present just under the surface as Nancy’s. The knife skitters sideways under the lack of proper pressure, and the tip of the blade sticks into her thumb. Blood immediately starts welling up, and Steve worries for the sanctity of the night.

“Gnarly,” Tommy breathes. As their primary enforcer when shit comes to it, it’s not the first or tenth time he’s seen someone’s blood. It’s a little different out of the haze of necessity though.

Nancy gasps. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Barb, you’re bleeding,” Nancy protests.

“I’m fine,” Barb says between clenched teeth. Steve knows that game all too well. There are situations, places and times, where it’s just not worth it to admit weakness. She turns beyond Nancy to ask him, “where’s your bathroom?”

Steve describes the placement, but a few seconds after Barb heads in, Steve chases after her. It can be hard to wrap a bandage one handed. Better he do it than it keep bleeding and ruin the night.

Barb’s got the wrong drawer of the sink vanity open when he gets to the bathroom door. He slips in behind her and tucks the lotions and cold creams drawer shut to open the bandaids and bandages drawer beneath it.

As he’s fishing past the ace bandages to get to the gauze underneath, she snaps at him. “You ever think drinks and knives don’t mix?”

Steve frowns. She has kind of a point, sort of. Steve’s seen some dumb people do some dumb shit at parties. But also not. “We all did it. You’re the only one who got hurt, and you’re the sober one.”

“Whatever. How clean was that knife? Or am I going to get tetanus too?”

“It’s a knife, not a rusty nail,” Steve points out. She doesn’t like that answer, her face makes that clear. “Look, I can drive you to the hospital if you wanna get it checked. We should probably wait, like, twenty minutes? but I’m really not that drunk.”

“I am not getting in a car with you.”

Steve tosses the chunky roll from hand to hand. “So you’re gonna come party?”

“No.”

Steve searches for another solution. “Nancy has her license, right? She could drive you?”

“You want to take her virginity tonight and you don’t even know if she can drive?”

Steve’s not really sure how the two connect. What’s her point? Also, as a best friend Barb probably shouldn’t have told her best friend’s boyfriend that. Tommy and Carol would have kicked his ass if he’d’ve told Shelly or Daniel that, back before they got together. It’s not that Steve didn’t know. Even before Nancy’s whole ‘I’m not like Laurie and Amy and Becky’ spiel, rumours or lack thereof get around. But Barb shouldn’t be saying it.

“I’m not leaving until she’s ready to go,” Barb says, displaying her hand so he can begin to wrap it. “Which isn’t yet, because for some goddamn reason she’s having fun. So how about you go away, leave me alone, and I’ll find a book to read somewhere in this place until she comes to her senses.”

Steve could do without the train of insults, but it’s not like he’s going to tell Barb to shut the fuck up because no one cares what she has to say, the way he would usually handle twerps trying to take him down a peg. That’s not exactly going to make things easier for him and Nancy. Instead he’s helpful. “You’re better off with tv. My mom might have a few somewhere, but you’re not going to find a bookcase anywhere. Dad thinks reading’s for pussies and queers, so.”

“If I didn’t hate you that’d be really sad.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Joke’s on Dad anyway. Steve doesn’t read and he’s still gotten fucked in the ass like a dozen times.

Unwilling guest seen to, Steve goes back outside to the party. Tommy and Carol are being their standard bitchy selves, all hilarious quips and scathing observations. Some girls are too fragile to handle their speed, but Steve never thought Nancy would be a timid little wallflower, and he’s right. She holds her own entirely, telling a brutally funny story about George Tankermein’s botched interview after the last football game. Tommy especially appreciates it, considering his rivalry with the Wolverines.

It’s Tommy who gets Carol in the water first this time. It’s been going on since elementary school, their mutual never ending quest to dunk each other. Steve never thought tonight wouldn’t end with his best friends in the pool. Plural, because of course Tommy jumps in right after her. It’s not about staying dry, it’s about the victory of getting the other wet. The Rreal question is will Nancy join in gracefully. Some girls freak out at being lifted towards the pool, so shallow they care more about their hair or makeup or clothing or shoes than about the fun of it. Steve cares about his appearance. Of course he does. You don’t get to be the king of a high school by being ugly slob. But fun is more important. You’re only young and beautiful for so long.

Nancy once again proves she’s his type of girl. As soon as Steve’s splashing in behind her, she leaps on top of him to dunk him. The next twenty minutes are just the friendly wrestling of friends in the pool, a dunk fest of each of them grabbing at each other. The fluorescent weighted pool rods Steve always keeps in a basket beside the pool make for great improvised games, something they can tussle over more entertaining than the various floats in the shed that rarely come out. Once again Nancy fits in with Tommy and Carol, the in this case game of capture the flag gets as competitive as Steve would want and expect from his besties.

After that, the pool splits into two pairs. Carol takes the opportunity to curl her legs around Tommy’s waist, arms on her shoulders dragging him a little deeper in the water. Chins skimming the surface, they start making out against the wall of the pool, leaving Steve to start a game of keep away with Nancy’s shoe to distract her innocent sensibilities from the couple getting to second base feet away. Shit like this is how Steve knows Tommy isn’t just gay and using Carol for cover. Sure Tommy could put on a performance for him and Nancy, for anyone viewing at a party or Tigers game or in the ahawkins High hallway, but you can’t fake lust like this. By the time Nancy’s changing out of her sodden shirt at the end of the night, Tommy’s gonna be two fingers deep in Carol, pushing at her g-spot. That isn’t just a show. Can’t be.

“We’re gonna head upstairs,” Carol announces breathlessly, some time later.

“Cool. You know where your towels and spare clothes are, when you need ‘em.”

The newest housekeeper just did a major overhaul of the cupboards, reorganizing everything the last had placed, but Steve’s long since showed Carol and Tommy what Heloise rearranged. They probably won’t shower before they fuck, they’re not exactly the type to insist on cleanliness before intimacy. Steve still remembers the time they got rained out of camping, the ground becoming pure mud, and how in the middle of dismantling their site Tommy and Carol took a frustrated cigarette break turned oral. Steve had to put towels down on the seats, they were so muddy. But if they decide to sleep over they’ll want to rinse off before school, and they’ll certainly need new articles to put on. Carol Perkins no more wears an outfit two days in a row than she raises her hand in class.

Tommy hefts himself out of the pool without swimming to the ladder, while Carol takes the easy way. She has just enough time to strip off her sopping wet jean jacket before Tommy arrives beside her. He bends down as she leaps, and he piggybacks her into the house at a speed that shows their urgency to get the rest of their clothing off.

“They’ve got clothes here to change into?” Nancy asks.

Steve flicks his wet hair out of his face, bobbing in the water a few feet away. It’s kind of a weird question if you ask him. Of course they do? Doesn’t Barb have stuff at Nancy’s?

“I’ve known them since I was three. Yeah they’ve got a shelf in the linen cupboard. They’ve got their own placemats for Thanksgiving and ornaments for Christmas.” Granted the last few years it’s been Steve go to the Hagans or Perkins rather than they come over in their formal best for a luxury catered meal, primarily because Mom and Dad no longer let holidays dictate when they’re coming home, but the point stands. The Harrington house is as much theirs as his, and he honestly wishes they’d take more liberties and come over more often.

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah, they’re great,” Steve agrees.

And then he gets to stop talking about his friends, because she swims in close and plants her petite hands on his sides. It’s a gentle way of holding him in place, a more demure action than Carol’s four limbed clinging to Tommy. Steve sees the fun in his friends method, but he likes the sweetness of Nancy leaning in too. Whatever it takes to finally get to make out with her. It’s been ages since sneaking into her bedroom, twenty four whole hours without her tongue in his mouth. Unspeakably long.

“I’m getting kind of cold,” Nancy murmurs after what Steve considers an entirely too short amount of time kissing. It’s hard to tell if it’s flirting or just pure honesty. It’s warm for the season, but it’s still eleven pm in November, which isn’t the same as eleven pm in June. Add to the weather how hollow boned she is, and she probably gets colder quicker than most.

“Okay. Let’s head in. No problem.” Going in doesn’t necessarily mean going to his bedroom, but Steve will take making out in the warmth of his living room too. Or more. Maybe Nancy Wheeler is a couch girl too.

Once they hop out of the pool, Steve plucks a few of the striped outdoor towels out of the towel hutch. He hastily drapes one over his shoulders to get it out of the way, then spends much more attention winding Nancy up in the other. When she’s fully bundled, he takes a moment with the ends of towel in hand to keep her in place for another kiss. Her hair is crimping in its wetness, leaning Nancy far more beach babe than drowned rat. It’s a good look for her.

Chivalry isn’t dead, though, and she did say she was getting cold. Whether or not it’s an excuse to get inside, Steve is going to take it in good faith and warm her up. He guides Nancy up the patio stairs and through the double doors into the living room. Stepping indoors is alike stepping into a wall of heat, at least a twenty degree difference. Steve doesn’t miss Nancy’s sigh of comfort.

Nancy begins trying to dry herself off in earnest. Steve scrubs at himself on autopilot, active brain mainly trying to decide how he’ll approach getting a little love. There’s an immediate wrench in the works though, in that Barb’s sitting silently in the kitchen with most of the lights turned off like some kind of demon. Carol and Tommy would only ever do that as the beginning of a prank, to jump out and shout and make someone scream. Barb’s just pouting. Far more boring.

“I’ll go pull out something dry for you,” Steve murmurs. No way is Nancy getting upstairs without talking to her bestie, and hopefully it’ll go smoother if Steve isn’t there pissing her off with his mere existence.

Steve takes the stairs at a jog, making sure to adjust the thermostat before he goes. Tommy and Carol are in no state right now to notice a change in temperature, he can hear exactly how preoccupied they are in the guest room that’s long since been christened as theirs. Steve doesn’t care if he feels hot or not, so might as well make Nancy comfortable at a cozy seventy six.

The beautiful girl in question pokes her head through his doorframe as if trying to find him a few minutes later. Steve knows she’s been to his house before, it’s impossible to forget a few hours of intermittent making out while dressed as James Bond and Red Riding Hood respectively. He would have guessed that’d’ve translated to knowing the layout of the house, because drunk partygoers tend to wander. But maybe not. Maybe Nancy never took the times in between their makeouts to go through his shit and make sure he’s the kind of guy she wants.

“Barb okay?”

Nancy nods, rubbing the towel over her hair again. It adds a bit of frizziness to the damp waves, but nothing too ugly. “I told her to go home. She’s fine.”

Steve doubts that Barb’s going to just leave, not after the production she made in the bathroom earlier, but it doesn’t really bother him. He’s been having sex in public spaces for years now; in parks and at house parties and once with a cheerleader on the bus to Walsh County. If Barb overhears something sitting in the kitchen that’s on her for not putting the tv on, just like it’s Steve’s responsibility to put on a mixtape now to drown out the sounds of Tommy and Carol down the hall.

Steve hands over some clothes. Nancy takes them without looking, instead keeping her eyes on him as she murmurs a thank you. They keep eye contact for a minute longer, Steve reading her wanting in the shape of her face, before she cuts the mood like a basketball hitting the backboard after soaring through the air to ask for some privacy.

“Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry.” Steve turns around, swinging his striped towel off his neck to maybe tousle it through his hair, maybe use it to pat off the dampest places once his clothes are off. She’s not ready. Sure. That’s fine. Steve can’t say he’s not disappointed, not when if he stepped back into the hallway he’d hear his best friends getting lucky, the perfect end to a party night, but he’s not a creep. He doesn’t want what she doesn’t want. If she doesn’t want to change in front of him, get to third base under the excuse of time alone, it’s fine. Better luck next time.

“Steve?”

He turns around, because what else could he possibly do when hearing her voice. And then he stands still, trying not to grin like a stupid locker room dolt, because she’s crossing her arms in front of her chest and pulling her wet shirt off. It leaves her standing there in her delicately lacy white bra, golden ballet shoes pendant a shining focus to the swathe of skin he suddenly wants to lick across.

“Damn,” he thinks to say. Some girls know just how hot they are, but for all that Nancy’s fitted into the swagger of his best friends, she’s new to this aspect. She needs buoying up, until she can hold onto this sort of confidence by herself.

“Shut up,” she says, and that just won’t do. He has no choice but to cross the room, curl his left hand around her jaw, and bend down to kiss her.

Nancy Wheeler’s mouth is a church, a divine place that makes Steve want to fall to his knees. If this is as far as they get tonight, with her tits behind the thin shield of her lacy bra pressing against his chest as they make out to a soundtrack of Queen and distant moans, Steve will happily take it. Sure there are girls quicker to the jump than Nancy, but they’re not as goddamn stunning as she is.

He has a feeling he’s going to get around more than second, though. Nancy lays a hand on his torso as their kiss gets closer, clutching to his sweater like she never wants to let go. Maybe she’s encouraged by the light pressure Steve’s putting on her side, cradling her with his own desire. It’s so fucking hot to be touching where skin meets the waistband of her jeans. He wants to touch every last bit of her that she’ll allow.

There’s only so long Steve can stay on his feet. He doesn’t get jelly kneed easily, but a standing make out reduces the amount of contact that can be made. On the horizontal plane there’s so much more to explore. When the lusty impatience takes over he carefully drops Nancy to her back on his bed, her wet hair instantly changing the colour of the pillowcase. Mom would have a fit about respecting the cost of luxury items, but she’s not going to be home for a week and a half, and it’s not like she’d do the laundry to get the chlorine out of the silk anyway. Steve doesn’t give a flying shit about his sheets, except to appreciate the contrast they make against Nancy’s skin.

As always, being laid out does wonders for the make out. It’s no more than a minute before Nancy’s leg curls around his lower back, heel digging in all around as she can’t stop moving. It’s quite possibly the squirmiest session Steve’s ever had, and he loves it. There’s nothing better than bringing out passion in a partner, whatever way it is that they show it. He loves that Nancy’s the type to be in constant motion. Steve always tries to match the energy of the partner he’s with, compliment what they want with his own desire, and in this case that means humping down, undulating much the way she is. Right now, as his erection makes contact with her thigh, he can’t think of anything better.

If Steve wants any chance at seeing Nancy fully naked, he’s going to have to meet her where she is. Show her that stripping is no big deal. Steve kneels up just long enough to peel off his damp sweater and unzip his jeans before collapsing back down on her. There are still enough layers between them that Nancy shouldn’t feel pressured, but the most confining layer being spread open helps the ache of his dick a little.

There’s no immediate backlash. She doesn’t call him out for being presumptuous like before. She doesn’t even fully tense against him, rather still grinds up, rocking her pussy against his pelvis. But instead of melting into the sensual headspace she gets more alert, like a dog with its ears pricked up. Steve has had sex as a lovely soupy mess too often to be happy with this reaction.

“Hey, what’s the matter,” Steve asks, stroking his hand through Nancy’s hair. If she’s not good with this, he’s gotta know now, before he does something she doesn’t want.

“Nothing,” Nancy answers breathily, clutching onto his shoulders before arching up for another kiss. Steve prides himself on being able to read a room, but pads of her fingers spasmodically fluttering on his delts are good convincers. He’d be able to feel it if she wanted him off of her.

Most lovers know at least one thing they want. Even the unexperienced have at least one thing they’ve always imagined. Steve’s big on giving the people he sleeps with whatever that is. When Nancy puts her arms up, wrists compressing the pillow underneath them, it’s more than obvious what she’s wanting. Steve doesn’t waste a second in linking fingers with her, grinding down on her barely faltering. Rubbing to mutual orgasms, face to face, hip to hip, palm to palm is a great way to end the night too. Steve will definitely take it.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. Does she know? She has to know. Some people don’t have much confidence, but Nancy deserves it in abundance.

“You’re beautiful too,” Nancy says back, and it’s an objectively true but still ego boosting statement. Steve’s worked hard to please all sorts of people, all the different people who orbit him. It’s important that the girl he’s poised to date thinks he’s gorgeous. It’s the best thing she’s ever said to him, up to the point that she asks him to take her pants off, and then Steve can’t fathom caring about anything else.

Steve scrambles backwards, nearly to the end of the bed. Men’s cut jeans come off easily when soaked through with water weight, but Steve knows from experience women’s cut cling far more. Steve unzips her pants tooth by tooth with a mental plea. There’s no way to tug damp denim off a girl’s body and look cool, but if he could just avoid being awkward he’ll take it.

As the fabric peels away Steve kisses the inches down Nancy’s right leg. He’d rather be burying his face up above, not getting further and further away from her core, but that’s to come. For now he’s got a task to perform, and won’t let the jeans getting stuck at her shoes ruin the momentum. He just yanks off her flats as fast as he can, socks right after, then kisses the arch of her foot. Sucking toes is not Steve’s thing, generally speaking -though he’s heard all about it from Tigers running back Hector Rigby, who’s had a high heels kink since seventh grade- but it’ll work for now.

Kneeling at the end of the mattress, trying his best to worship a body part he’s neutral at best about, Steve makes quick work of his own belt. He can shove everything down as far as his knees, and then when he falls back to his chest and elbows, do as much of a kick as he needs to to shake them the rest of the way off. With some girls he’d go straight to the oral, use his low down position to put his head where she needs it most. With Nancy, Steve thinks a more prolonged gentleness will be better. He shifts up to where she’s removed her own bra, and nuzzles into the scant valley of her cleavage. Who doesn’t like a tongue bathing their nipples?

Nancy might be the most petite girl he’s ever been with. She’s short, and rail thin. If steve couldn’t catalogue that dressed, he most certainly can with her naked. With Nancy laying on her back, Steve can lick the outline of each of her ribs, and above his head her collarbones stick out too. Steve can only assume her pussy is small too. He’s no Pepsi can, not like Frankie Benton from varsity swim, but even being average Steve doesn’t want to hurt her. How are you supposed to blossom into loving sex if your first time hurts? That’s just bad math.

The obvious solution is to play with her pussy for a while. He doesn’t even slip the first finger in until he’s circled her clit enough to have her squirming. They’ve got all the time in the world for this, it’s not like they have a curfew. If Nancy was just a little less green to this, Steve would consider asking her to show him how she likes to jerk off, how she gets herself wet and loose and ready. There’s something hot to the question, other girls have liked it and he still remembers how much of a flushing rush went through him when Silver Fox asked. Maybe in the future he’ll pose the question, if they continue to date. But for now it seems like a lot to ask of a virgin, and so Steve takes the bow in playing her body.

Mouthing at her tits, Steve crooks his finger inside her wetness, up and back, trying to find her g-spot. He’s not as consistent with it as Tommy and Carol claim Tommy to be. The benefit of a repeat partner versus always starting over with a new girl with new anatomy. Steve does his best, but even slowly graduating all the way to three doesn’t get Nancy crying and screaming and squirting.

Still, he’s not a total failure. It’s hard to consider himself such when Nancy’s diving towards orgasm anyway, even if it’s not the sopping mess of a g-spot explosion. She’s as frantic in her movements now as she was making out, flailing her legs in a corkscrew kick. It’s the difference between the sad static jizz drenched magazines some guys have to resign themselves to, and the motion of the actual act. Nancy Wheeler would never pose well for a Penthouse, but Steve wants to lick all over every twitching muscle.

Steve keeps kissing her as he strokes his thumb over her clit, pumping fingers refusing to give up. If he doesn’t get her g-spot this time he can at least learn some valuable process of elimination for next round. He grins against Nancy’s lips when she comes, thighs and calves and toes clenching. It’s always a high to do a good job, to earn approval.

He slows the tempo of his fingers, but doesn’t slip them out. Better for her to have something to squeeze down on for the last of her pulses. Plus he’s not gonna pressure her or anything, but fingers in her pussy might help her remember that the sex isn’t done, that there’s still the whole him side of the equation. Steve’d like to get off, in one way or another, before this is through.

“Can I?” He asks openly, stroking the inside of her in what he hopes is a tempting way.

“You need to use a condom,” Nancy says firmly.

“Of course.” Steve always uses a condom. Dad might cave his skull in with an objet d art if he ever knocked up a girl. Not to mention how swiftly he’d be dumped in an unmarked grave if he ever came home with AiDS.

Steve sheaths himself from the basket full inside his dresser drawer. He’s had enough house parties to stock condoms in four or five basic locations, living room included, for the couch girls, but the most obvious is right beside his own bed. It doesn’t take a big read of the situation to know they’re going to do this missionary style, mouth to mouth, gazing into each others eyes like she’s probably wanted since she and Barb read their first harlequin. He rolls on top of her, and gets to it.

It’s good, because of course it is. Steve doesn’t have bad sex, he’s better than that. Nancy’s legs roam once again, heels resting on his shins, before digging into his lower back hard enough to bruise, before planting themselves firmly on the mattress so Steve can plunge in more deeply, before kicking wildly as she rises to her second orgasm. She’s noisier this time, a litany of ‘oh God’s and his name pouring over her lips. Steve holds her hands as best he can, and keeps her together as they both explode.

Steve’s least favourite part of sex always has been and always will be condom disposal. Orgasms drain the energy out of him to an almost absurd amount. It’s why it’s so important his partners come first; because he’s useless afterwards. The first time Silver Fox fucked his ass, Steve napped in his front seat in the park for over an hour before driving home. Having to knot a slippery balloon filled with jizz while he can barely keep his eyes open is difficult, not to mention the torture of cold air on his spent dick. But he manages, even gets the condom itself into the bedside trash, because the other option is asking Nancy to drop it in the garbage for him, and even though she’s heading to the bathroom and easily could, it’s bad manners. There’s no chivalry in making her handle that, just like Steve would never ask Nancy to throw out one of his Kleenexes.

Without Nancy squirting, and with his condom usage, there’s not much of a wet spot in the bed. Still, Steve does the gentlemanly thing and rolls over into it, to give Nancy the drier side of the bed when she gets back. If Barb’s not still lingering downstairs, frustrated and appalled, Nancy’s going to have to lay down for at least a little bit. There’s not a chance Steve’s driving her home right now. Post sex naps are like the best thing. And given that it’s like midnight, and he’s still tipsy, and has school tomorrow, sleep would still be on the agenda even if he hadn’t just blasted his way through an orgasm.

There’s no telling how long she takes in the bathroom. One moment Steve’s rucking the duvet up to his armpits, bare shoulders a vent for the furnace he becomes while he sleeps, waiting for Nancy to come back. The next her hand is on his back, shaking him awake. She’s wearing the hoodie he set out for her when he first came upstairs, Steve can feel the cuff of it on his bare skin. It could have been a minute or an hour, and frankly Steve doesn’t care how long it’s been because he’s still floaty and exhausted, and however long it’s been isn’t enough.

“Hey Steve?”

Steve grunts into the pillow to acknowledge her without forcing himself to roll over, open his eyes, sit up. None of those impossibly hard things are necessary just to communicate.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Steve answers. If Nancy doesn’t want to sleep over he’s not going to make her. Different people have different routines of importance. Maybe she needs her morning shower with her scented soap and her loofah. Maybe the Wheelers are the nice kind of family that has family breakfasts. Whatever it is, he’s not going to hold her down and keep her from it.

As Nancy jostles the bed standing up once more, Steve adjusts his arm to plump the pillow under his face. It smells like chlorine, but that’s something to deal with tomorrow. An extra minute of conditioning to make up for the foul overnight treatment. For now, all Steve cares about is the weight of his limbs, and the softness of his sheets. He’s asleep again before the front door opens.

Steve wakes up alone. It kinda sucks, an empty bed after sex romantic enough to take place in a bedroom, but he gets it. Not everyone has the kind of relationship with their parents where they can stay overnight on a school night. Even if Mrs Wheeler wasn’t one of those moms who actually cares, there’s Barb. At some point Nancy had to get her home, make her feel reassured Steve’s not some big evil guy.

He’s not just alone, he’s alone alone. Tommy and Carol aren’t here either. Unlike Nancy, who Steve has the vaguest of memories of waking him up to tell him she was taking off shortly after sex, Steve can tell his best friends only recently left. They cleaned up their dishes, nothing left in the sink, but the milk carton is almost empty and Tommy -who has an irrational hatred for cleaning up towels since they were kids -has jammed his tea towel into a ball in the space behind the handle of the oven. Steve would have liked to have eaten with them, but they probably didn’t know if Nancy was still here, and didn’t want to interrupt. He can appreciate the lack of knock on the door, even if it left him lonely. Friends are easy to acquire. Considerate ones, less so.

Steve takes his time getting ready. It doesn’t matter that the secretary militantly calls home after each homeroom tardy, and gleefully leaves a message on the high tech state of the art answering machine the Harringtons were the first to have. They’re easy enough to tape over. All he has to do is not pick up when Carol or Tommy calls, and let them ramble for five minutes. He doesn’t show up late or skip when Dad’s home, because he can only imagine the lecture over putting disrespect on the family name, the punishment he’d get, but with Dad and Mom gone for another week at least Ms Barnes can fuck right off. He’s got more important things to do.

The first of which is to shower. He’s left chlorine in his hair for far too long, and the last thing he needs is it getting dry and brittle. The end of football season party is in mere weeks, and Steve is not looking like a lesser version of himself. Which, mental note, if Nancy’s going to be by his side, he’ll have to make sure she’s got a good conditioner in her caddy. He already knows she can dress for a party.

Once the clarifying shampoo has run clean, and the conditioner is heavily massaged in, Steve’s hand drifts to his cock. He’s got five minutes to spend as the conditioner sits, what else is there to do?

Steve runs his conditioner slick hand up and down his dick slow at first, then with building urgency. He could have happily stayed in bed for this. It’s hard to get out of a bed that still smells like sex, hard to not want to jerk off resting in the still damp spot. He’s always loved the traces sex leaves. But a shower was a necessity, and anyway it’s convenient. The hot water on his shoulders makes any lingering trace of hangover melt away, and the foaming body gel leaves his body slick enough that it’s easy to reach behind and play with his ass. Nothing penetrating, not with soap as lube, but a squeezed cheek, a harshly pulled aside and revealing cheek, a finger against his rim, it’s all very good.

Steve isn’t generally one to elaborately fantasize. He’s had enough real life experience that there’s always something to think about, from Amy’s tittyfucking, to Becky putting her panties in his mouth to keep him quiet, to Silver Fox holding his head in his lap, to waiting in line for a bathroom that a couple’s clearly fucking in, to all the times he’s stepped in on Tommy and Carol or they’ve just not let his presence stop them from doing what they want to do. Fantasy’s just not necessary. This morning Steve keeps it recent, cranks his dick to Nancy’s frantic squirming and the thought of inviting her down to the Hagan cabin in the summer so they can fuck on the ancient creaky beds, the squeak of the springs letting everyone know just how good he is. He comes and within seconds it slips down the drain, no clean up needed.

Thank god above, when he rinses out the conditioner the state of his hair isn’t dire enough to require a day of leave in deep healing conditioner. It has its use, like during swimming season, but he hates not being able to use other products. His Farrah Fawcett is a staple of his morning routine, one it hurts to skip. Steve steps out of the shower and gently rubs a hand towel over his wet locks, picking up the excess moisture, before using it to wipe the condensation off the mirror. Bath sheet wrapped around his waist not for modesty but for the tactile pleasure of a soft towel, he heads back to his room.

Before he strips the bed Steve rifles through his closet for ideas. He wants something soft today, but that’s hardly a rarity in his closet. He’s got unlimited money to buy fabrics that feel soft, creamy, fluffy, as long as they befit the Harrington image. With a handful of combination options marinating in his head, Steve yanks the deliciously soiled sheets off and deposits them in the machine. Heloise can run the load as part of her other tasks on Wednesday, or three Wednesdays from now for all Steve cares, but Steve needs a clean bed before then. He’s not spoiled enough that he doesn’t know how to grab new sheets from the linen cupboard and remake his own bed.

The sand and robins egg striped polo and grey toned jeans wins out, in the end. And as sad as it is for the fluffy terrycloth to go, the denim is buttery smooth against his thighs. It’s a good look, and it’ll pair well with his navy jacket, for whatever time he and Carol and Tommy spend outside today. It’s back to the bathroom after that, hair air dried enough for the hairspray to properly set. Some careful combing and moulding later, Steve is looking pristine as he toasts his bagel and selects his shoes for the day.

For all of his disinterest in whether or not he’s on time, his body clock is pretty tuned to the school day. When Steve pulls into the parking lot there are dozens of students still streaming in, here and across the lot at the middle school. Lots more kids getting dropped off instead of biking or walking now that the Byers kid is missing. Bypassing all of the spots Tommy and Carol are likely to be, for now, Steve heads for the bank of sophomore lockers. For the same reasons that they left without saying goodbye this morning, they’ll understand being ditched.

Sure enough, Nancy’s at her locker. She’s as pretty as ever; hair tidily sectioned with barrettes, and tiny gold studs peeking through her ears, and a cable knit sweater, white with thin pink and blue stripes. If it was several sizes larger, Steve’d consider wearing it himself. As it is, they’re going to look good sitting beside each other today.

As he gets closer he can see the inside of her locker is covered with 3D butterfly stickers. It’s actually pretty cute. Most girls just have celebrity magazine cut outs. Steve’s not sure what Carol will have to say about it, but he thinks it’s unique. He approaches from the right, initially out of Nancy’s sight. He doesn’t stay off radar for long though, choosing to slam the locker door fully open so it’s no longer a barrier between them.

“Hey,” he throws out, happy to see her. If Steve’s lucky he can get another bathroom session in before homeroom.

“Hey,” Nancy answers, tone hesitant. That does not sound like a ‘I want to make out and seal the deal on being your girlfriend’ mood, which is just unfortunate. If he can fix it, he wants to.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, but looks away from him into the depths of her locker. “Yeah, totally. I just- I feel like everyone’s staring at me.”

“Oh, I- I didn’t tell anyone,” he leaps to say.

“I know. I know. Of course not,” Nancy shakes her head. “But what about, like, Tommy and Carol and them?”

Well yeah, of course Tommy and Carol know, but that’s not any different than everything Barb must know by now. If anything, Steve is less culpable of gossip than Nancy is. He hasn’t even technically told them yet, unlike whatever car conversation Nancy and Barb had, Tommy and Carol just know from being down the hall, and knowing his repertoire. There’s no way they did what she’s suggesting, they wouldn’t gossip about it until he said they can.

“You’re being paranoid,” he answers, shaking his head a little.

She, thankfully, understands right away. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s cute.” It’s been a hell of a long time since he’s had to struggle with virginity, in any sense of the word. Steve wouldn’t quite call Nancy innocent, she’s not annoying and self righteous like the purity types sem to be, but thinking everyone knows is a blast from the past for Steve.

She smiles at him not rejecting her. Like he would. He likes Nancy more than he’s liked lots of other girls. Steve wants to cement Nancy’s contentment further. “Hey, I had a good time.”

She looks up at him, another smile blooming over her delicate face. “Yeah. Me too.”

They kiss in front of her locker for a brief minute. Nothing too intense, Steve directs, considering she didn’t want people observing her. If they really go at it like he wants to, they’d have the whole hallway staring. It’s only a stopgap measure, though. If Nancy’s going to date him she’ll have to grow out of that shyness. A lot of people care about what’s happening in Steve’s life.

“Hmm,” he says, once they separate, pointing to the stickers. It’s a little too condescending to congratulate her on being different than all the other girls Steve’s stopped by the lockers of, but he still wants Nancy to know he notices things about her. Then it’s time to go, time to take off for homeroom and keep up the million little conversations that maintain his popularity. He is a king of the people, after all.

The first three periods of the day go by in much the same way that they always do. Steve asks just enough questions in first and third period to get a participation mark without ever having to actually do the assigned reading. He plays cards throughout study hall. More importantly, he refreshes the bonds he’s crafted with all the people who matter, in every little moment provided to him. Networking is the lifesblood of the Harrington line, and Steve would no more fail in this way than he would by murdering a foe and getting caught.

Before he knows it it’s the best time of the school day: lunch. The time of day Steve’s guaranteed both Carol and Tommy, no matter what combination of other popular teens want to sit with them today. Steve can’t remember the last time they didn’t sit together, barring one of them being out sick. They’re a constant.

That said, Steve’s hoping for a smaller table today. The bigger the second tier of friends joining is, the more likely the Freak starts ranting about conformity, and Steve doesn’t want to hear it when he’s still got faint strings of a hangover. It’s just annoying. It’s not conformity to sit with friends at lunch. Everybody does it. Hell, Munson himself does it, with the few Satanic friends he has. Maybe he’s just bitter Tommy will sit with all these other boys but not him. Steve has no doubt that Tommy loves Carol, and that the drugs plus Eddie’s dick thing just sometimes happens, but it probably truly bugs Munson that no one acknowledges him. Hard to have a boyfriend in Hawkins.

It’s still the three of them when Carol puts her wedge heeled foot on the table to complain that a rash she got somewhere is frostbite from his pool. Like she hasn’t swum in his heated pool in the winter dozens of times over the years. Steve’s not quite sure what the power play is, but all he really wants is her shoe off the table, inches away from his tray. Cafeteria food is disgusting anyway, no need to make it worse with floor germs.

Steve takes a scoop of his applesauce only to realise too late that it’s apricot flavour. Hideous. It’s as he’s handing the cup over to Tommy, Tommy thanking him, that Nancy comes down the aisle to put her tray beside his. Steve grins. He kept the spot open for a reason, didn’t invite some of the guys over for a reason, but there’s a difference between hoping that your girl will come sit with you, and her actually doing so.

With Nancy freshly beside him, it’s time for his friends to be a little less disgusting. His criticism gets Carol’s shoe off the goddamn table, as well as Tommy’s jab of pretending to rub his spoon against her rash. Points for the tag team, minus points for being just as gross as his girlfriend in front of Nancy.

“Hey Tommy. When you left, did you see Barb?”

“What?”

“Barbara. She’s not here today,” Nancy persists.

“I seriously have no idea who you’re talking about,” Tommy chuckles, Carol snorting beside him.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Come on, don’t be an ass, man. Did you- did you see her leave last night or not?”

“No. She was gone when we left.”

“Probably couldn’t stand listening to all that moaning,” Carol says.

Tommy smirks, cheering Carol on. She gets theatrical with it, moaning ‘Steve, oh Steve’ with her head thrown back, eyes rolling in her head. Tommy adds to the performance with rhythmic grunting, and pounding harder and harder against the table. Steve uses all his skills to rein in his proud blush. He knows they overheard him last night, just like he heard them. They know as much about his sex life as he knows about theirs, both in what they’ve known for a long time, since puberty hit all three of them in the same month, and the shameful secrets recently shared. If Tommy and Carol think he showed Nancy a great time, that’s almost as important as whether or not he actually did.

“Listen, I’m sure she’s fine. She probably just… she’s probably just, like, skipping or something.”

“Yeah,” Nancy agrees hesitantly. Steve gets that that probably seems weird to her, she and Barb aren’t the skipping type. But that kind of proves his point, really. For an academic like Barb, skipping a class or getting an A- instead of an A+ probably is a sign of a pouty rebellion. She apparently ditched Nancy last night, coming to terms with the idea that her best friend can do what she wants, and she’s continuing the fit into the next day. Different people hold different levels of grudges, but they'll figure it out by the end of the week, no doubt.

Steve is exiting fifth period with Dennis F and Buddy and Chris W, continuing the chat they’ve kept up all boring class, only now at a higher volume, when Nicole T approaches. She’s a gorgeous girl, a natural redhead with boobs surprisingly large for her thin waist. She’s got a loose relationship with Chris B, has since the beginning of summer, But Steve would absolutely approve of her dumping Chris B to hook up with one of the gentlemen beside him. Chris B is a total dud.

“Hey Nicole. Nice sweater,” Buddy tosses out. He’s not wrong. The top half of the navy sweater is polka dotted, white dots going from her shoulders to just under the curve of her boobs. It really accentuates her natural gifts.

“Thanks,” Nicole acknowledges, before continuing, “Steve, can we talk?”

He wasn’t expecting it to go that way, but it’s fine. He can go off with her to an empty stretch of hall and hear whatever she has to say. Unless Barb did spread Nancy’s business around again, like she did with last night’s virginity comment, and Nicole’s trying to shoot her shot before Steve publicly commits to Nancy. Steve’s gonna walk away from that double speed, if that’s the case. He’s got no interest in trading Nancy in for a newer model.

Once they’re secluded enough to not be immediately overheard, Nicole opens her mouth. What comes out is fucking shock. “Jonathan Byers took pictures of you.”

“What?”

“I just had Art, and I was in the darkroom. He was developing pictures of you.”

From when? What was he doing, when Jonathan was developing incriminating evidence? It can’t be anything from cruising. Nicole would be revolted, if she even bothered to warn him first.

“Just me?”

She shakes her head, beautiful red hair bouncing. There’s no way Chris B deserves looking down at that in his lap. “Carol, Tommy, Nancy Wheeler, her nerd friend. That was your party last night, right? He wasn’t, like, invited, was he?”

“He was not. Look, can you meet me in the parking lot after sixth? Carol’s gonna wanna hear it from you.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

Steve’s last period of the day is US History, with Carol. It’s not a great class for talking out loud but the middle of the room is a six lane highway for passed notes, messages going in all directions. Mr Ustah is as blind as a bat, glasses an inch thick on his decrepit face, and wouldn’t notice if a brick of heroin passed from teen to teen. He can barely see his own notes on the chalkboard. Steve cements a bush party with a few guys from the swim team, fields a question about his new cologne, confirms that yes, he’s dating Nancy now, but the vast majority of his attention is spent telling Carol about Byers’ stalkery pictures. There are so many details she wants to know that Steve just doesn’t have. It’s not like Nicole described every chemical dripping photo hanging in the darkroom. Her guess is as good as his. For her sanity he’s going to have to get all the pervy items off of him, not just kick his ass.

As always, Steve escorts Carol to her locker at the end of last period. She doesn’t have any 3d butterflies, it’s all a cut down poster of a sky exploding with fireworks. She’s loved them since they were kids and Mr Hagan let them set off their first rocket. On different days it takes Tommy different times to connect with them, depending on who he runs into between the woodshop and Carol’s locker. It’s not like Steve and Carol don’t get it, but he knows she feels as antsy as he does, waiting.

Thankfully it’s not one of those fifteen minute days. Tommy swaggers over in the cobalt blue shirt that sets off his eyes so well, looking as well put together as Carol does in her suspenders. Steve’s working under time constraints, so he tells them to meet him in the parking lot at Byers car, before leaving Carol to explain it all to Tommy. He’s got to catch up with Nicole and get her arranged for the confrontation.

Tommy’s intense when he and Carol join them at Jonathan’s shitbox. Steve gets it. There are layers to this that can’t be said out loud, not with the girls present. Tommy’s hands are curled into fists, and the only thing that stops him from immediately shattering Byers’ windows is Carol pulling him into a kiss. It’s so like their regular routine of end of the school day PDA that Tommy can simmer a little, contain himself.

Steve sits on the trunk of Jonathan’s car, Nicole standing beside him. He’s not sure how long Byers will take, but he doesn’t have anywhere else to be. Nothing that’s important. Carol and Tommy are on the left side of the car, getting in the affection and attention they were denied the last hour. Credit to their ability to focus, they snap apart from each other as Byers approaches the car. Steve, too, stands up.

“Hey, man.”

“What’s going on?” Byers frowns, pretending innocence. It’s a solid tactic, one Steve’s used dozens of times. It doesn’t work as well when the other party knows you’re faking.

“Nicole here, was, uh, telling us about your work,” Steve sets up.

“We’ve heard great things,” Carol seconds.

“Yeah, sounds cool,” Tommy chuckles. If Jonathan’s hair isn’t standing up on the back of his neck at the sound of that particular chuckle, he doesn’t know Tommy as well as Steve does.

“And we’d just love to take a look. You know, as connoisseurs of art.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jonathan declares as he tries to rush past them. Maybe he does know what it sounds like when Tommy Hagan is seeking blood.

“Oh, no?” Steve asks, the vocal counterpart to Tommy grabbing the backpack off of Jonathan’s back as he moves past.

“Hey! Please give me my bag,” Jonathan asks as he turns a one eighty snd tries to follow Tommy. Steve easily catches it as Tommy hucks it at him.

Man, he is totally trembling. He must really have something to hide. Steve turns towards the car and plunks the backpack on the hood. Nestled between two binders is the damning evidence, a thick stack of photos. Steve tugs them out and leans against the car once again, as Nicole and Tommy look over either shoulder.

“Ah. Here we go,” Steve says, slapping his palm with the stack before really looking at the first one. If there was any doubt Nicole was mistaken, it’s gone now. It’s a black and white photo, but Tommy is clearly centre frame, smoking a cigarette as Nancy’s off to his side in the stunning clingy stripped shirt she wore last night. From the angle Steve can see his house in the background, he can even guess approximately where Byers was standing last night.

It’s that that leads him to not be surprised when the next picture is Tommy and Carol drying off in the living room. He knew that was the angle Byers had. And that means…

“Lemme see,” Tommy barks out. Steve hands over the stack minus the one he’s holding, Nicole still looking over his shoulder.

“Dude!” Tommy yells a minute later. Jonathan flinches. Good, he should be.

“Yeah, that’s not creepy at all,” Carol sneers, her own clutched photo snatched from Tommy.

“I was looking for my brother.”

“No. No, this is called stalking,” Steve refuses. He’s about five seconds out from tackling Byers, Tommy ready to pounce right behind him, when Jonathan’s execution is delayed by Nancy walking up to their throwdown. Frankly Steve’s surprised there isn’t a full crowd already, sensing the tension. There will be as soon as the first punch gets thrown, he knows that.

“What’s going on?”

“Here’s the starring lady,” Tommy growls.

“What?” Nancy asks.

“This creep was spying on us last night,” Carol explains. It’s good of her to explain the problem so Nancy can get her own revenge before Carol rips his balls off. Steve’s got his right arm slung around Carol’s back, his left around Tommy, and he can’t help but tighten his grip a little at the blunt explanation.

“He was probably going to save this one for later,” Carol adds, handing over one of the photos. The one of Nancy’s bare back as she undresses in his room, because if Jonathan was standing there, then his vantage points were there and there, and of course Steve didn’t bother to draw his curtains before he and Nancy tumbled into bed. Why would he have?

“See, you can tell that he knows it was wrong, but man, that’s the thing about perverts,” Steve says as he accepts the stack from Carol and rolls them into a tube, stepping forward as Carol slinks back to tuck against Tommy. He’s glad he’s keeping her safe. She can handle herself, she never would have lasted the last decade at their side if she wasn’t as powerful as them, but Steve still likes the idea of them saving each other.

“It’s hardwired into them,” he says, plucking Byers’ shirt at the shoulder. If Tommy is giving him first swing, he’s going to make Byers feel as vulnerable as possible. “You know they just can’t help themselves.”

Steve tears the photos as he speaks. First in halves, then quarters, then again and again. The photo paper is thick, but Steve puts his back into it. Byers has the fucking nerve to look sad as the voyeurism shreds away.

It’s not like a part of Steve doesn’t get it. Everyone’s got a perversion or two. Everyone’s got that one thing that makes them hard, or wet, no matter the situation. The problem is the direct correlation between respect and privacy. People don’t have to know things. It shows your respect for others, keeping your shit to yourself, and allowing them to keep theirs. If Byers absolutely has to jerk off to secret pictures he should be doing himself and others the favour of not developing them during the school day. That level of disrespect, he’s earned what happens next.

“So we just have to take away his toy,” Steve finishes. It’s the killing blow, the impact as brutal as Tommy’s knuckles against his jaw would have been, if Tommy hadn’t allowed him lead on this.

“Steve,” Nancy murmurs, admonishing. Steve gets it, it’s not a betrayal. She isn’t popular yet, she hasn’t been put in situations where putting her foot down is crucial to life continuing correctly. Nicole, Carol, Tommy, they all know what he’s doing as he retrieves the camera.

“No, please, not the camera,” Byers begs. He tries to follow Steve, but this time Tommy intervenes, holding him back with a hand on his chest.

“Wait, wait, Tommy, Tommy. It’s okay,” Steve croons, as Tommy takes a step back. It allows him centre stage again, everyone looking at the camera in his hands. The thing that allowed Jonathan Byers to think he could get away with being wrong, that it would be so easy he wouldn’t even have to hide it. Steve’s spent a year, now, desperately covering his tracks before and after meeting Silver Fox, and who knows how long Carol and Tommy have been burying Tommy’s shit. Byers doesn’t get to flaunt his fucked up shit and not pay.

“Here you go, man,” Steve says, holding the camera out to Byers. Just as the creep reaches for it, Steve opens his hand, letting it fall to the ground. The sharp clink of shattering glass is the only sound for a moment, before Tommy wheezes a laugh.

“Come on. The game is about to start.” Punishment concluded, Steve starts walking to the gym. Volleyball isn’t the best sport Hawkins High has to offer, but he’s made out with most of the girls team, and watching a match or two is a good way to stay friendly. Nicole is right behind him, which makes sense. Annabelle’s like her best friend, of course she’s hijacking the double date to have someone to sit with as she watches her friend. Nancy not being right behind her sucks a little. It was just this morning that she was upset about the idea of being known to have sex, she should understand that Byers deserved all that aggression and more. If Tommy had taken lead, Byers’d be black and blue by now, and pissing blood for the next three days.

Steve lets Carol and Tommy, arms curled around each other, bypass him, get a few feet beyond him, before he stops to call out to her. He doesn’t want a girlfriend he can always boss around, but in this case it’s pretty clear she should be following him, not helping Byers pick up his shredded pictures.

Nancy’s choice makes a little more sense once she stuffs the pieces into her purse as she catches up. She’s right, it’s better that Byers not have the pictures. They fucked on the bed, not in the middle of the room, so the pictures didn’t get too explicit, but it doesn’t take much more than a bare back to spark a filthy fantasy.

It wouldn’t do to look too keen, so instead of heading directly to the bleachers to wait the half hour as the opposition gets off the bus and gets changed, they pause in the English wing. Steve sits with his back against the lockers, Tommy and Carol across from him. Tommy’s upright on the bench, Carol laying down with his thigh as a pillow, as per usual. Give Carol any excuse she can to be laying rather than sitting, and she’ll take it. Sometimes Steve sits beside Tommy, or far enough away from him that he can rest Carol’s feet in his lap, but this time Steve has to make room for Nancy. She chooses to stay standing up as Carol rants about fifth period. Not the most comfortable, from Steve’s perspective, but maybe she likes it.

“So I told Mr Mundy the solution of ten plus Y is blow me.”

Tommy laughs, but Steve’s calling bullshit. “Bull. If you did that you’d be in detention right now.”

“Saturday,” Carol claims.

“I bet Mr Mundy’s still a virgin,” Timmy claims.

“Oh, he’s so a virgin,” Carol agrees.

“Maybe you should blow him, Carol. Help your grades a little,” Tommy riffs.

As the three of them snicker about beanpole Mr Mundy ever getting a girl as talented as Carol on him, Nancy suddenly jolts into motion. She’s halfway down the hall before Steve can even ask when she’s going.

“I, I just, I totally forgot. I told my mom I would- I’d do something with her.”

Steve scrambles to his feet. It can’t be their first public double date if she’s leaving to hang out with her mom. “What do you mean? The game’s about to start.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, but she doesn’t stop moving.

“What the hell’s wrong with her,” Steve asks as she disappears at the end of the hall. She’s thrown everything off balance. Carol and Tommy aren’t even cuddling anymore, both sitting up looking down the hall.

“Maybe she freaked out when you went all psycho on the psycho,” Tommy offers.

“Oh gimme a break,” Steve answers forcefully. Byers had to be knocked down one way or another. His way was arguably less psycho than whatever blood Tommy would have smeared.

“What did you expect, dating Ms Perfect,” Carol asks, popping a bubble as punctuation.

“She’ll get better,” Steve replies. Her old standards won’t all work, if she becomes popular with her arm in his. She’ll learn that sooner or later. Barb already knows, that’s why she’s so bitchy.

The game is fine. Volleyball will never make Steve’s top three, but it’s not like it’s golf. There’s at least a little movement, and strategy. Sitting through it is worth it for the payoff of being invited over to Lauren’s post game, with Nicole and Chris B and Mark. Ever since he spent the summer between sophomore and junior year in Vegas with his dad’s lame magic act, a temporary show at some casino, Mark considers himself a poker master, nevermind that he wouldn’t have been old enough to roam the floor. Steve doesn’t have to believe his stupid high roller table stories to enjoy the dime games Mark is constantly setting up. Lauren must enjoy them too, otherwise they wouldn’t be dating.

It’s a fun, mostly uninterrupted three hours of flushes and straights and pairs. Mrs Polanski sits in on one round, which is pretty pathetic, but they keep their mouths shut about it. No sense in pissing off the host and getting kicked out. Even if they could easily relocate to his, an angry Mrs Polanski wouldn’t let Lauren go, and Mark would probably be the good boyfriend and stay with his girl. Mr Polanski swoops in a few times, with virgin cocktails, and plates of scalloped potatos, and garlic cheese toast, all these weird recipes he’s been obviously dying to try. Steve doesn’t turn down food, but it does come off as a little desperate for applause.

It’s not just adults interrupting the flow of the seven player game. At one point Carol and Tommy sneak away to fuck after some intensive footsie. It doesn’t stop Mark from dealing another round, and the rest of them playing it out, but Steve’s of the opinion that the more at the table the more fun it is. Twenty minutes after Carol and Tommy come back, it’s Nicole and Chris B’s turn to fuck in the guest room. Steve goes half hard under the dining room table imagining Nicole sitting down in the wet spot Carol made, like sitting on a sponge, her juices smearing all over Nicole’s ass and pussy. He’s still not big on fantasies, but that is very likely real. He’s heard the stories, from Tommy, and Carol herself. It could have been himself and Nancy, if she hadn’t blown off the night for whatever reason. It’s the only dark mark on an otherwise greatly entertaining night.

At ten Mr and Mrs Polanski tell them they need to go home, citing the reason that ‘it’s Wednesday’. That’s something that the Perkins and the Hagans certainly don’t care about, and the Harringtons would have to be home to lecture about, but Steve understands a curfew in concept. Lauren won’t be the first or last friend to have one.

They divide at the bottom of the sidewalk. Chris B is too lame to have a car, so Nicole is lucky that Mark offers to take them both. She really needs to have a higher standard when it comes to guys. Steve would have given her the last seat in his beamer, leaving Chris deservedly stranded and forced to walk, but it’s better that Nicole go with her closer friends. It gives Steve the opportunity to drive around the mostly empty streets of Hawkins and Roane County beyond, blasting tunes and sharing candy. He doesn’t miss Tommy checking that it’s Starbursts, not taffy, but no one says anything. It’s been a while, and it might be a lot longer until the next time, if this thing with Nancy works out.

Eventually Steve drops Tommy and Carol off at Tommy’s car in the otherwise abandoned Hawkins High parking lot. It always sucks to call it a night, but he knows they want some alone time. It’s just past eleven, any self respecting teenager is still awake, so Steve knows Nancy would be if he drove down Maple Street. He restrains himself. Nancy doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who wants nightly visits from the boy crawling through her window. At least not yet. Maybe once he helps her build up her appetites. Instead he goes home. It won’t be too quiet if he keeps the radio on.

Steve goes to bed in a good mood and wakes up in a better one, dream-born erection leading to some spectacular jerking off, orgasm a great way to start the morning, so of course school has to turn into a shitshow of the highest degree. This time Nancy approaches his locker, instead of yesterday’s vice versa. Only it’s not for a kiss, or a compliment about his locker decoration, or even to continue to debrief post virginity loss. Instead Nancy drags him outside and starts telling him a load of crazy shit. There’s not even any eye candy for Steve to enjoy as he endures. Nancy’s wearing a boxy pink blouse and jeans that are too dark in contrast, and it is not her best look.

“So wait a sec. I don’t understand. You went back to my place?” Steve asks.

“To look for Barb,” Nancy repeats, like he’s dumb for not getting it.

“Yeah, okay. But why didn’t you just talk to me? That’s crazy,” Steve asks, putting his hands on his hips.

“I don’t know. I- I was scared.”

“You seriously think you saw a guy in a mask just hanging out in my yard?”

“I don’t think it was a mask.”

“But he has no face?” Steve reminds her of what she’s already claimed.

“I don’t know! I don’t know. I just have a terrible feeling about all of this.”

Yeah, so the fuck does Steve. “Oh this is bad.” Steve steps back a few paces to lean against the brick wall. “This is really bad.” God, he’s about to be in so much fucking trouble.

“What?” Nancy asks, taking a step towards him.

“The cops. They’re going to want to talk to all of us now. Tommy. Carol. Everyone who was at the party.”

Nancy eyes him oddly. “So?”

“My parents are going to murder me!” Steve says, throwing his hands up momentarily before tucking them safely back into his pockets. It’s a massive understatement, but the best he can do without giving years of history.

She doesn’t seem to like his answer. “Are you serious right now?”

“You don’t understand. My dad’s a grade A asshole.”

“Barb is missing. And you’re worried about your dad?”

Fuck. Fuck. Is there any way he can make this any less terrible? Can he mitigate any of the consequences he’s about to reap? “Okay, just- when you talk to the cops, just don’t mention the beers. It’s just gonna get us both in trouble, and Barbra’s got nothing to do with it, okay?”

“I can’t believe you right now,” Nancy scoffs. Her volume raises as she throws up her arms. “I can’t believe you!”

Steve calls out her name as she stomps off, but he doesn’t go chasing after her. You deal with your own shit first, put on your oxygen mask before putting on your neighbour’s, and Steve can't help Nancy calm down when he’s trying not to throw up with kick to the gut anxiety. He is so, so fucked.

By the time Steve is in second period, rumours are spreading throughout the school. It wasn’t very subtle of the Hawkins police to kick all the stoners and skippers and independent projects goodie goodies out of the cafeteria to begin their interrogations. He’s unsurprised to hear Nancy Wheeler being called to the office over the P.A., she’s the one who started the upcry after all. Everything in Steve wants to bury his face in his hands and fucking hyperventilate, but kings don’t crumble in public. As far as anyone else in the library is concerned, he doesn’t give a shit about the cops. Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins being called certainly aren’t subsequent punches to the gut.

It’s with supremely mixed yet ultimately panicked feelings that Steve waits in the silence of his own name not being called all morning. It’s good that he doesn’t have to try to explain a Tuesday night party to losers like Callahan and Powell. Some people just aren’t capable of understanding being outgoing, and living each day to the fullest. However it’s a pretty simple guess on how Steve gets to lunch without hearing his name. Nancy, Carol, Tommy, they’re all minors, which means they need to have a parent present to speak. Upon calling Roger Harrington’s secretary of the month, she would have politely told them to eat shit and die, Mr Harrington doesn’t take meetings less than a week in advance. And then she would have hung up, and immediately pressed whatever number her weekly planner’s notes suggested to inform her boss of the scandal. Which means the short term positive of not talking to cops is obliterated by the long term negative of Dad definitely fucking knows.

Not only does Dad know, he’s got two more days to build up his fury before unloading on Steve in whatever way he sees fit. It’s another short term/long term situation, a decision Steve has to make, avoiding phone calls vs risking making Dad feel ignored. He’d like to exit Sunday with his knuckles intact, not rapped with a ruler until bleeding in a way that can be passed off as Roger Harrington’s man’s man son’s fighting.

Nancy doesn’t show up at lunch. Steve can’t blame her for not wanting to show her face. Everyone in the school now knows they were the last to see Barbara before she went missing. It’s a lot of attention directed at them, even if no one’s saying anything directly to their faces yet. Nancy hasn’t grown accustomed to this kind of scrutiny yet. It’s probably unsettling for her.

Absence of his girlfriend or not, no Harrington/Hagan/Perkins table stays empty for long. In this case it fills out with all of the Tigers offensive line, and their girlfriends, and they spend the next half hour discussing fundraising for the bussing to play other counties. The school’s cheap, and wants the players to arrange carpooling, but everyone knows from experience that everyone invested piling into a bus together is way more fun. If that takes the girls selling cupcakes or kissograms, so be it.

It’s with about ten minutes left before fourth period that Carol leans in to whisper in Tessa’s ear. A moment later the cheerleader is making a flawless excuse about stealing sign making supplies from the art room that gets all their girls on their feet. Naturally, with a look, or a well placed hand, every Tiger ends up following his girl, leaving them alone.

Steve’s fully expecting Carol to speak up first, as she was the one to gain their privacy. It doesn’t matter that they didn’t do anything wrong, getting out of this spotless is going to take a deft hand. The Munson conspiracy types are going to have opinions about a loser going missing from a popular kid’s backyard. They can’t stop the freaks making their claims, but it’s going to be important to stop that cancerous kind of rumour from spreading into cliques that actually matter.

What he’s not expecting is where her mind first goes. It’s generous of Carol, considering her life is on the line. “Think your dad knows?”

Steve shrugs, willing to show some despondency with his best friends, the only ones who know why Dad getting involved is a bad thing. “Why else wouldn’t they call me?”

“When he gets back, you can crash at mine for a few days if you need to.”

Tommy says it through a mouth of half chewed sloppy Joe, the one he kindly snagged off Steve’s tray to make it a little less obvious he’s too nervous to eat. The casual offer means the world to Steve, but what’s he’s going to say, thank you? Guys don’t do that. Being semi queer doesn’t make them not guys. “Cool.”

“Hopefully it doesn’t come to that. The dumb bitch will call from Chicago when she runs out of piggy bank money, and her parents will go pick her up.”

“Yeah, probably.” It’s not what Nancy thinks, but Nancy also said men with no faces are running through his backyard so grain of salt. Hawkins is too small for a BTK or a Hillside Strangler, some indiscriminate creep in a mask, and Barb’s too boring for it to be a directed attack.

“And if she gets dragged back before your parents get home,” Carol continues, “then there’s nothing for him to get mad about.”

Steve’s not sure on that point either, because the very association of the Harrington name with the police is going to set him off, even if it’s repealed, but he appreciates what Carol is trying to do.

He appreciates, too, that they don’t even have to discuss it, that when they cluster by Carol’s locker at the end of the day, it’s time to go to Steve’s empty house. For an evening, his best friends will help him make the anticipatory silence a little less full of rage. If Steve really plays his cards right, seems just a little cowardly, lets just a drop of two of truth out of the dam, they might even stay the night.

They’re five houses away from his when Steve sees the navy BMW and the Ferrari Mondial in the driveway. Rather than begin the parallel park job -because there will be serious hell to pay if Mom or Dad want to leave the house and he’s blocking them- Steve keeps driving. If Dad felt it necessary to cut his trip short, Carol and Tommy don’t deserve to walk into that wrath.

“See you tomorrow,” Steve says, idling in front of Tommy’s house.

“Just remember, fuck ‘em,” Tommy declares.

“Seriously,” Carol agrees, snapping the wad of gum she started to chew once she realised why they were driving past their destination. “He’s an asshole. Fuck him.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.” It’s not like Dad’s going to punish him hard enough to keep him out of school. That would be way too conspicuous.

All Steve can think as he trudges up the walkway to the front door is Thank fucking Christ he’s used up almost all the weed. It’s a fifty fifty shot as to whether Dad is going to pull the oft used ‘all the rooms in my house are mine’ card to search his bedroom, or if he’s in a mood to consider that level of effort insulting when his son should just be caving in his interrogation and admitting to it. Steve should be able to tell on his first face to face look, and it’ll be suicide to try to lie if Dad’s already found it, but he’s sure as hell not admitting to it if he hasn’t. And if he has, a gram or three aren’t going to go over great, but it’ll be better than an ounce.

Mom’s home, Steve knows that by the vehicle in the drive, but there’s no sign of her on the first floor. Unsurprising. If Dad was pissed enough to fly home on such short notice, she’d had a whole morning of fury already. It’s every Harrington for themselves now. She’s going to stay in the master bedroom, well out of it, until Dad’s gotten Steve’s lecture out of his system.

It’s ludicrous to think of postponing this. Steve might like to, might feel the bile creeping up his throat as he walks down the hall to Dad’s office, but he knows the hazards of making Roger Harrington feel ignored. If Dad has to come up to his bedroom to talk to him, the not great ending of this is going to decline rapidly. So he drags his feet against the plush carpet but keeps going, stopping only to knock on the closed door. God forbid he doesn’t show respect.

“In,” he snaps, voice slicing through the wood.

In Steve goes. Dad’s barely out of his business suit, cuffs still buttoned, tie still tight against this throat, only his jacket hanging on the mahogany coatrack any concession to being at home. Steve can only see him from the torso up, but he has no doubt that the tension in his jaw, and shoulders, and hands on the leather desk blotter runs throughout his whole body.

“You are the most worthless investment I’ve ever made,” he begins, bluntly assessing. “Waste of time. Waste of money. Waste of resources. And now waste of reputation? What do you think my colleagues are going to say about a girl going missing from our house after you served a bunch of minors alcohol? How can you possibly be a legacy hire?”

Steve keeps his mouth shut. Dad’s plans for his future change every time he’s in town, just like his breakfast rants about society. The only common factor of Dad’s visions of his life are his doubts that Steve can pass muster. It doesn’t matter if Steve wants to work at Talbot Financial, or if next month Dad will want him at Yale on a sports scholarship. It only matters that Steve fucked up, and worse than that, didn’t have the people management skills to avoid getting caught. If he was really a proper Harrington, worthy of any of the futures Dad might set out, he would have kept Nancy contained.

“Push-ups. Now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Steve drops to the carpet and positions his hands shoulder width apart, his feet spread as wide as his hips. If he was doing this for Coach, he’d spread his fingers to really engage his muscles, but he doesn’t need the extra work now. Push-ups are his favourite, as far as these things go. He can do push-ups for a while before his arms get shaky. He lasts far less in wall sit squats, or doing a side plank, and the less time he endures a punishment meant to make him a better man, the more angry Dad continues to be.

Not that Dad’s satisfied with any length of time, when he’s in this sort of mood. Steve tries not to count, reps or inches or seconds, because it hurts worse to tell himself just five more and then have to keep going, goalpost always moving. Instead, if he lets it, there’s this way his brain fades away until he’s not thinking, just doing. But Steve can tell he’s been doing it a while because his shoulders and chest are burning long before he collapses, nearly biting his tongue as his chin crashes into the floor. Steve is still trying to catch his breath, face mashed into the carpet, too tired to roll onto his side, when Dad angles himself out of his desk to kick Steve in the ribs. Not hard enough to break anything. Harringtons don’t leave marks during corporal punishment. That would be uncouth. Just enough to make Steve really present to hear his declaration of useless, and his order to get up.

“You will keep your mouth shut about this. You will not make a statement, unless it’s what Howard tells you to say. And then you quote it, verbatim.”

TV fathers say things like ‘do I make myself clear’, in lectures like these. Roger Harrington doesn’t. Asking implies the possibility of not being clear, and that is unacceptable. Steve will do exactly what the family lawyer requests, and that’s all there is to it.

“Yes, sir.” Wouldn’t do to leave the respect off the response, or he’ll be back up, this time instructed to do a punishment position centreing on his lower body. Doesn’t matter if his arms are too overclocked to hold weight if Steve spends the next hour standing on one foot.

As soon as Steve is physically capable, he pushes himself to his hands and knees and stands up. As much as it’s going to suck, his best option is taking the trays of ice out of the bar fridge and dumping them into the bathtub. If he acts stiff tomorrow, Tommy and Carol will worry. He doesn’t want that.

Going to bed early to rest his body backfires though, because it leaves Steve wide awake for family breakfast. It’s the worst part of Mom and Dad being home. Mom’s never been a domestic bliss kind of woman, but with Dad declaring it all women’s work, she cooks or they starve. There will be no bagel in first period today, it’s plates of over medium eggs and enough coffee to drown a horse. It’s a crippling social faux pas to admit he fucking hates the smell of coffee and all it’s associations, so Steve never complains when someone has it, but even before he reaches the ground floor the percolating scent has his teeth grinding.

The decent society is crumbling lecture of the morning is pretty pointed. Dad meanders a bit, including a coworker who’s single and pregnant wanting maternity leave, and also a grocery store clerk who had ears full of earrings, at least six piercings, but ultimately it’s about girls who’d rather be whores than listen to their betters. Between having a female eternal best friend and dating exclusively girls, the lecture makes Steve feel weird, like most of the lectures do. But there’s no arguing with Dad, so Steve eats his eggs and keeps his head down. Metaphorically. In reality, posture is one of the few things Mom will speak up about. Harringtons don’t slouch.

This time Nancy isn’t at Steve’s locker, or her own when he goes to check. Only when Becky and Sam tell the whole library about Pervy Byers and Crazy Byers having a screaming match on Main Street does Steve remember it’s the kid’s funeral today. Nancy’s little brother was his best friend, she must be there to support him. But she could have asked him to go with. It’s the kind of support a girlfriend is supposed to ask of a boyfriend.

Steve keeps his complaint to himself until the end of the day. He can’t take time off to talk to Tommy and Carol, he needs to gather groups and comport himself properly in front of the masses today. Barbara Holland’s car was found at the bus station this morning. She might not be as in danger as Nancy was assuming, but she still ran away from the Harrington house. He can’t make it look like he has anything to hide, or Howard and Dad will kick his ass.

Once they’re in the parking lot, though, it’s sitting in his throat. Steve didn’t pick them up this morning, so Tommy has his car, but it doesn’t matter. Whatever they end up doing tonight, Steve can end the evening with dropping Tommy and Carol off at the Ford. He nods his head towards the Beamer, just the slightest thread of desperation woven in, and Tommy drops his keys back into his pocket. Tommy climbs into his customary seat of back right, Carol settling in on the left. Before he’s even got the engine started Steve’s spilling his guts through the rear view mirror.

“She was gone today because she was at Will Byers funeral. She didn’t ask me to come.” Steve doesn’t get it. Sure they had a fight, but who lets a little anger and hatred stop them from doing the socially correct thing? He’d have to be far more upset to not show upon request.

“Maybe she’s not the kind of person who likes asking for help.”

“Or maybe she’s pissed.”

“Why would she be pissed?” Nancy’s the one who’s put them all in this terrible situation over her runaway friend.

Tommy shrugs. “She’s on the rag?”

“Shut up, fuckface.” Carol retorts. Carol hates bitchiness being blamed on periods. Steve can practically quote her call for bitches to be proud bitches every day of the month.

Carol leans forward and pokes the nape of his neck from the gap between the backrest and headrest. “When she told you she was gonna tell the cops, what did you say?”

“I told her I was worried about the cops because my dad’s an asshole, and to not mention the beers because it was just gonna get us in trouble.”

“You told the brown noser to lie to the cops?” Carol scoffs.

“Do we really consider the idiot and the drug addict as cops?” Tommy laughs.

Steve shrugs. “Powell’s almost not useless.” And Hopper might be an addict but Steve once saw him sleeping in his car parked near the crusing spot, like he was going through the motions of reacting to a complaint but couldn’t be bothered to actually roust anyone. “And it wasn’t a lie lie, just to not mention the beer. You know my dad.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t. Unless you’ve started telling all the girls you rail?” Carol asks archly.

No, he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. It’s embarrassing, how shitty of a son he is, and how shittily Dad treats him because of it. It was a struggle to even admit to him being an asshole in front of Nancy, made only possible by every second teenager having a gripe about their asshole parents.

“So if she doesn’t know, how’s she supposed to know why you’re upset? She thinks you don’t care about her friend running away. And even if you don’t, that’s a bad look for a boyfriend. No wonder she didn’t call you today. You’re not exactly emotional support eye candy right now.”

Ugh. Fuck. Carol has a point.

“Look. For some baffling reason, you like her. So go find her, and say sorry, and tell her you’ll take her on a date,” Carol finally finishes dictating.

“Go take her out for a malted, like in all her ponytail and bobby sock dreams,” Tommy tacks on.

“Okay, for one she’s not that old fashioned. And for another, Benny blew his brains out, so where are we getting milkshakes?”

Steve takes Tommy and Carol to Carol’s, and once they’re safely inside, does a three point turn to head towards Maple Street. There’s a chance Nancy’s still at a reception, no doubt Mike and those two other dork friends would be the last to leave, but her house is a good place to start.

He doesn’t need to go so far as knocking on the front door and asking whoever answers if Nancy’s home. Nancy is visible from the street, standing in her roofed but otherwise open air garage, swinging a baseball bat. She’s got truly awful form, but Steve knows better than to criticize. Not everybody likes being told how to do things better. Nancy is a perfectionist, so she straddles the line of appreciative of improvement and in denial of failure. But considering she’s kinda pissed at him, better to not poke the bear.

“Woah, woah, woah, hey,” he stammers as she nearly takes off his head with a poor swing.

“What are you doing here?” Nancy asks. She looks great once again, a crimson jacket with a wooly white collar that makes her brunet hair pop, even when it’s pulled back in a ponytail.

“What are you doing?” Steve returns. At her obvious lie of ‘nothing’, Steve jokes, “I hope that’s not meant for me.”

“What? No. Oh, no, I was just.. thinking about joining softball.”

Steve has nothing against the idea of an athletic girlfriend. He’s done it before. It just doesn’t seem to quite fit her right. It’d be like seeing Carol join a team.

“Well, uh, I’m really sorry. I mean, even before you threatened me with a baseball bat.” Steve takes a few light strides until he’s near Mrs Wheeler’s station wagon. He switches his hands from his back pockets to the fronts, and leans against the side of the hood.

“Okay,” Nancy says reluctantly.

“I panicked, and I mean, I was a total dick.”

“Yeah, you were,” Nancy agrees.

Steve knows better than to press on. No one likes a beggar. Sure enough, Nancy is the next to extend an olive branch. “Did you get in trouble with your parents?”

There are a grand total of two people who would command an honest answer to that question, and they both care about him too much to ask. Nancy gets the same response any other teen casually complaining about their parents gets, the one that convinces them Steve’s commiserating, that he’s on the same level as all his buddies. “Totally, but, you know, who cares? Screw ‘em.”

Nancy buys it, because everyone always does. Steve’s just that good. It allows Steve to stop selling and move on to the next thing. “Any news about Barbara? Parents heard from her, or?”

Nancy shakes her head.

“Hey, listen, why don’t we, uh,” Steve scrambles for a distraction. “Why don’t we catch a movie tonight, you know? Just kinda pretend everything is normal for a few hours. All The Right Moves is still playing. You know, with your lover boy from Risky Business?”

Nancy smiles a little, which spurs Steve on. “You know, Carol thinks I actually kind of look like him. What you think? Huh?”

He angles his face right, then left, so Nancy can see him from all directions. He raises the bat like a microphone and sings Old time Rock And Roll into the knob.

It backfires. Nancy looks away from him, before saying she doesn’t think she can, because of the funeral, and how sad her brother is about it. Steve knows how to take a hint. He offers one last chance to stay, for her to say no when he says he should go, but instead of her denying it she just says sorry. There’s only so pushy a boyfriend should be, so he takes the kiss she plants on his lips, and walks back to the car, still singing Bob Seger’s classic tune.

The obvious answer is to retread his path, and drive right back to Woodfield. Steve lets himself in with the key Carol pretended she lost in fifth grade so her mom would cut a new one. The Perkins always keep their door locked. Mrs Perkins works weird hours, and if Mr Perkins isn’t at work he’s in the basement adjusting his elaborate train set, so focused he wouldn’t hear burglars stomping in.

Steve doesn’t knock at the end of the hallway before going into her room. They could be fucking, but it’s not like he hasn’t stumbled across it before, and heard all about it a million times. The only thing that could surprise him is if Carol’s fucking Tommy with a rubber dick so he doesn’t need to see Munson, and even then Steve just thought about the idea so would it really surprise him? Frankly, it should have been their first solution. Steve knows just how dangerous the actions he and Tommy resort to can be. Silver Fox could kill him, one day. Maybe Munson’s secretly too nice, but he won’t be around forever, and Tommy’s always gonna be queer.

They’re only making out. Tommy murmurs a hey through Carol’s lips, and Steve shoves at their ankles until they’re diagonal and Steve can sit on the footboard. He’s not usually one for homework, but there’s a question sheet he has to do so he can inch by a fifty percent. He could go use the Perkins living room, but it’d be weird. Steve is good at charming parents, just like charming everyone else, but sometimes he doesn’t want to. He’s not in the mood for how the styrofoam carving is going, or how was the commute, he just wants to struggle with the stupid a equals x equals bullshit with a comforting background soundtrack of Blondie and his friends’ love.

The night progresses pretty standardly for an evening at the Perkinses. Cyndi, Carol’s older sister, is taking a gap year to save up for college, and with most of her friends away in other states, she has to occupy herself. Sometimes it seems like Cyndi Perkins single handedly keeps Family Video afloat. It’s really no problem to grab something from the ever revolving pile on the coffee table. It’s been there since she got her first part time job at fifteen, and before then it was just her begging Mr and Mrs Perkins for rentals. The Perkinses is the only house Steve knows of with four televisions in the entirety of Hawkins, so everyone can watch what they want separately. It seems a little overkill to Steve, but he’s not going to complain at sprawling over the floor with backrest pillows with his best friends in the privacy of Carol’s room.

Eventually, though, he has to call it. They deserve some alone time, it’s not like he’s not aware. Fridays are important date nights, and even though neither Carol nor Tommy has told him to piss off, it’s not like they can fully enjoy themselves with him there. Standing up and heading back down the hallway is only the start of the end, of course. They’re still going to drive around for a hour or two, talking and blasting music, until Steve drops Tommy and Carol off at Tommy’s car. But if Tommy and Carol want to be curled up in one of their beds by midnight, they need to start heading out now.

“I just don’t understand why we’re coming out here,” Carol asks, snapping her gum. “She obviously doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“That’s, that’s not it.”

“Oh, really? Because no girl would ever blow off King Steve.”

Tommy snickers in the passenger’s seat.

Steve knows he’s not everyone’s cup of tea. Just like he was surprised the Freak went for Tommy, the girl Freak from that weirdo club wouldn’t be into him. He’s too perfect for some people. But that’s not what this is. Two days ago Nancy was very obviously into him, enough so for trembling limbs. That doesn’t just change. “She was, she was acting weird. I mean, something was wrong.”

“So what? Like you’re worrying about her?”

“What?”

Carol’s voice turns high pitched, cooing. “Oh, you are!” Carol rises from her perch in the back to lean over the back of his seat. She curls an arm around him, clad now in a pink jacket to ward off the November chill, to pat his chest. “Aww, Steve has a heart.”

“Would you just- stop,” Steve demands, pulling her arm away.

“Aww, Stevie’s in love,” Tommy sings beside him, matching the smirking tone of his girlfriend.

“Would you just shut up,” Steve commands. Not that he thinks it’ll work. They’re both offended on his behalf that an apology and spontaneous date invitation didn’t get her over her hump. When Carol and Tommy get riled up, they latch on to topics.

“Who knew,” Carol goes on.

“Shut up!” Steve snaps. Beside him Tommy throws on a gasping face, though it barely conceals his laugh.

“Damn. Sorry,” Carol says, holding back her giggle. It’s more than most subjects of her mockery get, even if she clearly still thinks she’s funny. Steve has no choice but to let it go.

“So this is it, the princess’s castle,” Tommy says as Steve pulls to a stop on the street in front of her driveway half a song later.

“I’ll just be a minute,” Steve tells them as he gets out of the car. If it ends up being longer than that, he’s sure they can find a way to occupy themselves. Wouldn’t be the first or last time.

The driveway’s long enough for pick up basketball, but his long legs cut through the distance in seconds. He pulls himself onto the roof of the single story section of the house, then turns to the left to start to grapple with Nancy’s window. Except his hands don’t get that far. As soon as Steve can look through the partially open curtains, he freezes, guts plummeting to the concrete below. Nancy’s sitting on the edge of her bed, and she’s not alone.

He doesn’t know how long it takes him to climb back down. It feels like years he’s staring at Jonathan fucking Byers tucking a blanket around his girlfriend’s shoulders. Steve knows Mom’s caught Dad in worse ways, and while he’s always hated him for it, he’s always figured she’s made her bed. She’s weighed her priorities, and come away with exotic travel and opulence ranking higher than loyalty. It’s understandable in some ways, even. Everyone has different priorities. But the first time, at least, it had to hit her something like this is hitting him.

“Never figured you for a two pump chump, man,” Tommy chortles as soon as Steve opens the driver’s seat door. He’s relocated to his usual spot, tucked in beside Carol. If Steve had to bet, he’d say they were making out before he was up the driveway.

“What?” He’d be able to understand his best friend if he wasn’t in shock.

“You were gone for two minutes. Did you even have time to get your pants off?”

“He probably didn’t bother. Who needs sex when you’re in love,” Carol singsongs.

Five minutes ago it just pissed him off. Now he’s sad. He curls his hands around the steering wheel and mutters, “Jonathan Byers is in there.”

“The stalker’s in her room? Let’s go kill him!” Tommy growls, hand already pulling at the door latch. Tommy’s never been the guy to back away from a fight, not a single day of his life. Steve’s been trying to bring Nancy into their friend group, of course Tommy would be there to start cracking skulls. He’d do it for a lot of girls, not just the popular ones. And it’s not like Steve wants Nancy to get raped or anything, but it hurts so much that Tommy’s chivalry isn’t necessary. He’s not in her room, he’s been invited into her room. It’s fucking crushing.

“Stop, man,” he says, so fucking tired. “Get back in the car. She obviously invited him in. They were, like, cuddling.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to get back in the car. Hard to cuddle and make out with broken arms and jaws,” Tommy says, viciously turning on a dime.

“Maybe later,” Steve answers to placate his blood thirsty bestie. “I’m not even mad yet, I’m just sad. I thought she liked me. I liked her.”

He’s expecting Carol to call her a skank, or something more elaborate. Carols got a huge vocabulary when it comes to insults. He’s not expecting Tommy. Steve’s had Tommy lean through the divide between seats hundreds of times, to offer or claim a drag on a smoke, to grab a fry, to change the radio station. He’s never had Tommy pass into his right field to plant a hard, hasty kiss on his open mouth. Steve knows Carol’s watching, knows she’s only feet away, but it’s just instinct after years of house parties to kiss back wholeheartedly when someone grabs him. Even the ugly girls deserve a story to tell their girl friends. His tongue tangles with Tommy’s, his best friend tasting like the empty Pepsi they tossed out the window ten minutes ago with hints of the joint they shared after getting into the car.

Steve doesn’t know how to react when Tommy pulls away. There are different things he’s trained himself into depending on the hotness of the girl who’s just thrown herself on him. And of course Tommy is hot. Carol and Tommy have been hot for years. He knows every last detail of their sex lives, from how a mud streaked soaking wet white tank looks clinging to her nipples to how wet she can leave the sheets. They know everything about his, from his preference for doggy style if a girl’s into it to the tracks on his best sex mixtape. It’s just never been a thing to act on. They’ve been smug, proud of each other for their achievements but it’s never been for each other, even if there’s been moments of showing off. Steve doesn’t know if the post makeout routine changes when it’s your best friends.

“Fuck her,” Tommy growls, face so close Steve can count his long eyelashes. His voice sounds desperate, like it’s the most important thing in the world for Steve to know Nancy’s a bitch and he would never do the same thing, never try to replace him. They might hang out with a lot of people, a necessity for staying on top, but Tommy and Carol would never dream of ditching him for some jackass.

The kiss Carol gives Tommy when he returns to the back row isn’t as possessive as it should be. Sure it’s in their signature style, but it’s in no way Carol reclaiming Tommy after a stupid mistake. It’s just them, being as aroused by each other as they always are. Steve had to know Carol was okay with it, she’s far too vocal to just put up with things she hates. Still, their complete normality with each other is reassuring. It’s hard to imagine he could break Tommy and Carol, as tight as they are, but he would never ever want to.

The thing that changes it from Tommy placating Steve in a particularly affectionate way to actual interest is Carol shifting forward, breasts surely pressing against the leather upholstered seat, to rub two neatly polished fingers across the seam of his lips. Steve shivers under the sensation, skin tingling, but doesn’t pull away. He’s never been a pulling away guy, no matter how people touch him. Even when Carol pushes a little harder to dip into his mouth to the first knuckle, Steve just parts his lips.

“Oh yeah, can you imagine picking Byers over this?” Carol scoffs. She’s playing with his mouth like they’re all on something and it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Steve wishes, a little, that she would just kiss him, but not enough to disrupt this. He’ll take this oddly erotic penetrative touch over nothing, which he could quite possibly end up with when his best friends come to their senses. Carol’s fingers plunging into his mouth is definitely something Steve can jerk off about later.

Thank god, Tommy’s not sensible yet. Far different to claiming his girlfriend’s hand and demanding Steve get them back to his car already, he attempts to join Steve in the front of the car. Any girl Steve knows would try to make the move as slinky and sexy as possible. Tommy just dives through, cramming his body where it needs to be regardless of barriers like this is the football field. The brutishness is hot, on a guy.

Tommy doesn’t waste any time settling in the passenger’s seat. Moments after planting his ass, Tommy leans over the armrest propped up on his left elbow. His right hand curls around the column of buttons of Steve’s polo shirt, yanking him where Tommy wants him. It’s not the first time someone he’s been with has been so forcefully clingy. Steve’s always gone with it in the past, and he does now too.

Steve opens his mouth under the onslaught of Tommy’s second kiss. He’s known for years now how aggressive it is, but it feels different on the other side of it. It’s not some technique Carol is putting up with, it’s thrilling. It makes him want to be manhandled. This kiss would feel even better pinned against a wall, he knows it.

This time when Tommy ends the kiss, he has less room to fall back. Instead of all the way into the backseat, the passengers is just feet away. Silence descends, and Steve is scared to say anything. He doesn’t want to break the spell. For years they’ve -Steve and Carol especially- made a name for themselves, created a status that depends on the consistent proper deployment of words. He knows all too well how easy it is to turn intense into awkward, sexy into shamed. There are so many wrong things to say, and so many ways this could get ugly.

“That was exactly as hot as I thought it’d be,” Carol announces.

Asking you’ve thought about us, about me, is a little too needy, so Steve keeps his mouth shut. It’s natural that he’s thought about them together, they’re Tommy&Carol. If she’s thought about him, it must mean he really belongs. That he’s as important to them as they are to him. But begging for that acknowledgment is too much.

“You should do it again,” Carol commands.

If there’s one thing that can be said for Tommy Hagan, it’s that he knows when to listen to his girlfriend. So many of the Tigers guys Steve knows have fawning, bullshit relationships. And if adulation is what they’re looking for over connection, Steve’s not gonna condemn. Different people, different priorities. But Tommy and Carol have never been like that. They know each other from baby teeth to first wet dream to marrying after college to porch swing with grandkids on the lawn. If Carol is telling Tommy to his face to kiss his best friend, they don’t have to worry that it’s a test or unmeant or a weapon of misbehaviour to use in the next fight. Carol wouldn’t do that to him. So Tommy can lean over the armrest for their third kiss, and this time Steve can feel confidence in grabbing his Hoosiers jacket and holding on.

Wrist resting in the shallow curve of the top of the headrest, Carol joins them by weaving her fingers through Steve’s hair. This late at night the spray’s worn thin, unless he’s put a second layer on. Steve doesn’t always bother if it’s just Tommy and Carol, though of course he’s got a can in both of their bathroom cabinets. They’ve seen him in worse states than just uncoiffed. He’s glad he didn’t do it tonight, not if the limpness gets Carol touching him so intimately.

Carol doesn’t stop there, doing the same for her boyfriend with her right hand. Steve’s not unaware of Tommy’s kink for hair pulling, between the friendly gossip over the years and what he observed with Munson. It just comes off a little eight year old smashing two Barbies together, her directing their kiss. Or, well, a Barbie and a Ken. Not a lot of little girls sit at their dollhouse imagining lesbianism. Though, in this case, it’s actually Ken on Ken.

Except, honestly, that’s not the worst mental image. A little juvenile, sure, but it also makes him think about slamming bodies together, or more specifically, grinding. Steve’s done it with a girl, but never a boy. Silver Fox had too much dignity for that. It was a blowjob or him getting fucked only. Tommy, though. He’d be up for it. Steve’s sure of it.

It wouldn’t work though. Not in a car. They’d have to get out, grapple on the grass. Which Steve’s fine with in theory, but in practice it’s the Wheeler lawn and maybe not all the nosy neighbours are asleep. But telling them to put their seat belts on so they can head off and fuck in one of their beds is talking about it, and they’re not ready. Steve would far rather suffer the blue balls of staying at second base then have Carol or Tommy freak out that they’re taking this too far. Spontaneity is far easier to excuse than something planned.

When Carol lets go to fish a Kleenex out of her purse to spit her gum into, Tommy falls back onto the passenger seat and once again Steve is stymied. Steve knows how to manage a shy or distractable hook up. It doesn’t happen often, he aims for enthusiasm, but couch girls have their moments and having sex on drugs is always a gamble of attention. Yet again, however, it feels weird to sink into those developed tactics with his best friends. If Tommy doesn’t want to anymore, it’s his choice. Steve doesn’t want to work him. He can only hope it won’t be too weird to watch them make out on the back for a few minutes before taking them to Tommy’s car. Ease the comedown.

It’s the opposite. It’s the complete opposite of withdrawn interest, and Steve knows it because Tommy’s hand is all of a sudden in Steve’s lap, pulling down his zipper. Tommy’s not left handed but he doesn’t struggle. Clothing management is something you learn early on, and he and Carol have been together for years. At this point Tommy could remove Carol’s bra with a hook for a hand and a blindfold.

Steve decides to be helpful and unbutton his button. While it’s easy one handed once you learn the trick, like tying a cherry stem into a knot or putting a condom on with your mouth, all things Steve is sure Tommy is capable of, it’ll take his hands away from worming into his underwear and Steve doesn’t want that. It’s playing a different game, encouraging a handjob from a jumpy seventeen year old rather than an assured goal oriented man in his forties at best. Removing barriers is definitely the way to go.

With Tommy’s thick, sturdy hand curled around his dick like no girl’s could, it’s an easy decision to stretch across the console and stroke with decent pressure over Tommy’s fly. Whatever Tommy’s up for, Steve’s going to reciprocate, up to the highest intensity. It makes him smile, the way Tommy’s cock jumps against his palm. For a guy who’s been having sex for years, Tommy is easily excited by a simple caress. Steve’s not falsely modest, he knows he’s good with his hands. Never had a complaint, girl or man. But Tommy’s quick enthusiasm isn’t something he’s had in a while. There’s nothing to have to earn, no hoops to jump through, Tommy is just giving it over. It’s a relief, if one could say this blood heating nerves trembling yearning feeling is relief.

Despite the danger of cruising, Steve’s not used to spreading his consciousness out in all directions while having outdoor sex. Silver Fox is highly focused at all times, Steve’s always trusted him to keep awareness. It takes Steve a few minutes into the handjob to notice the heavy breathing that’s not theirs. In the backseat Carol is, if not touching herself, at least turned on enough to have it affect her breathing. Steve can’t imagine she’s got a good angle of any of it, but maybe the sounds are enough inspiration. Her sounds are certainly inspiring him.

Tommy too, probably. Steve would like to take most of the credit for drawing Tommy over the edge, his steady pace and his nimble fingers, but Carol’s hitched breathing must contribute at least a bit. Tommy loves her, after all. Whatever the percentages, Tommy’s eyes flutter closed when he comes, mouth dropping open with a soundless shout. Steve already knew that, Tommy and Carol first made fun of each other’s o-faces in a classic middle school game of truth or dare, but it’s never been this close to him. It’s never been because of him.

The pride of what he’s just done for Tommy is almost enough to make Steve shoot off, but he doesn’t want to be too sleepy to enjoy Carol’s orgasm. And that’s coming down the barrel, Steve’s certain of it. Not only would she not allow this situation to end without her satisfaction, Steve can tell from the way Carol’s full hair suddenly touches the roof that she’s switched to kneeling on the backseat. He’d love to have the angle of her tight jeans pulled down to the barrier the seat makes, see her hand in her pussy but she’s still behind the drivers seat. Only Tommy can crane his neck to see her, which is kind of fitting considering who her actual lover is.

Unlike Steve, Tommy doesn’t need a rest. Steve knew that too, they’ve mocked his recovery period countless times before, compared him to everyone else they know who currently fucks. Steve would take incredibly sleepy afterwards over Terrence, who always seems to have a runny nose and has to hork to avoid dripping on girls, but the Tommys of the world are best off. It doesn’t cost him anything to keep his hand pumping on Steve, no matter the feeling rushing through his system.

To spur Steve on just a little bit more, Tommy gives up his twisted spine of legs in the footwell, left hand gripping, head facing the backseat, to crawl halfway into the driver’s seat one last time. It’s his dominant hand now, though Steve can’t say he feels much of a difference. None of them are amateurs, they know how to make everything work. And it’s Tommy’s mouth, insistent on his, bruising want and loyalty that’ll never fade, never turn sickly yellow.

Still, he holds off. Tommy’s giving him everything he could possibly need, pressure and grip and want, but Steve can’t ruin this by coming first. He sucks on Tommy’s tongue and inhales the manly sweat of him under the thick letterman jacket and staves it off just long enough to hear Carol’s orgasmic squeal, and the spatter of drops of her come hitting the leather driver’s seat at velocity.

Steve lets go, then. His brain is loaded with sights and sounds he’ll never forget, and there’s no more reason to control himself. He grabs onto the Hoosiers jacket and shudders, hips bucking one, two, three last times. Tommy makes no effort to wrench out of his grasp, get some safe space between them. Steve wasn’t really expecting him to. Tommy’s the kind of guy who’ll gladly just take his shirt off at a party if he’s gotten it stained. Jizz isn’t that much different than spillover from a keg stand, or an overloaded chip salsa spill. Good thing he’s not hysterical over bodily fluids, really, considering his girlfriend. Steve’s had a lot of sex in his car since getting it last year, but he’s never had things so projectile. He’s going to have to get it detailed.

That’s tomorrow’s problem, however. Right now the problem is the weight of his eyelids, and if he’s going to be able to get Tommy and Carol safely to their car before he passes out. If Steve can just get them to Hawkins High’s parking lot, he’s got no problem with napping in the back for a few hours after they take off. It’s not like anyone’s going to interrupt him. Will Byers is dead and Barbara Holland is in some major city, the Hawkins PD is too lazy to keep up patrolling with no current cases. Ten bucks says Callahan and Erickson are playing cards at the station as he speaks.

“Do you want me to drive?” Tommy asks as Steve struggles to open his eyes enough to see through the windshield. They don’t need to be at full extension, just open enough that he can see traffic lights.

“That’d be nice,” Steve says through a yawn. It’s so great to have people who get you.

It’s with newborn fawnlike legs that Steve gets out of the car. The driver’s side backseat door is closer than the passenger door, inches away rather than having to round the whole car, and he can make that walk with his eyes closed. His fly is still open, jeans sagging down, but who’s going to complain? If any nosy nellie neighbour has been peering out their window, it’s not the sloppiness of walking with his jeans slipping down that’s going to be their last straw.

The seat is wet, enough so to soak into Steve’s jeans as he sits down. If he wasn’t so flooded with post sex sleep chemicals, it’d be hot enough to make him want sex a second time. As it is, it’s just a spicy tidbit to remember the next time he’s jerking off. Steve paws at where the seatbelt should be hanging, and after a minute manages to pull it down and click it into the buckle. Carol’s nice enough to stroke his hair as he leans against her, straining against the belt. She smells so good it’s ludicrous; sweat and come and hairspray and gardenia perfume. It’s a cloud he’s floating on, that easily carries Steve to sleep.

It’s unexpected to wake up in his own driveway rather than Hawkins High parking lot. They’re supposed to be getting Tommy’s car to take off in, not extending the hangout. He’s not even sure Tommy drove them straight here. Steve didn’t exactly clock the precise military time of when they all creamed their jeans, but he knows how long it takes to get from home to school, and the time on the dash seems later than that. Maybe Tommy was trying to keep him away from his dad for a few more minutes. Carol and Tommy really don’t like his parents, and are always happy when they jet off. For his own part, Steve’s not too worried. Unless he did another specific fuck up Dad’s unlikely to want him in his vicinity. He certainly won’t be seeking him out to ask him how his night was. Tommy and Carol are safe too, it’s long past either of them counting as networking.

Steve hitches his open, damp jeans back up his hips as he plants his feet on the asphalt. He reacts in time when Tommy calls out heads up, and despite mild fumbling catches the keys tossed to him. It’d be pretty fucking sad if he couldn’t manage that at least. He’s not sure why he has to open the front doors, when they’ve let themselves in a million times over the years, but whatever. At least he won’t have to look for his keys tomorrow morning.

Except as he takes his first yawning steps towards the front doors, Tommy and Carol aren’t following in his footsteps. Instead they’re walking in the opposite direction, almost fully off his property already. Steve frowns. He’s still too exhausted for puzzling shit out. “Where are you going?”

“We’re just gonna walk from here,” Tommy answers.

“No way. Just crash here, we’ll get your car in the morning.” Unless they want to leave, and he’s just making it awkward. But why should it be awkward? They’re all hot, and they had sex that was fulfilling for all of them, and no one ever has to know.

“You sure, man?”

Steve shrugs. He doesn’t like Tommy’s hesitation. He thought they were over this secret shame shit. It doesn’t always have to be a secret, and it doesn’t always have to be shameful, and Steve is firmly in that overlapping circle. Even if Tommy never wants to do this again, he shouldn’t let it change anything. “When have you ever not stayed over when you wanted to?”

“He’s got a point, Tommyboy,” Carol agrees. It’s a sight for sore eyes, Carol slinging an arm around her boyfriend’s shoulder and guiding him up the driveway, right behind him. She even gives his damp ass a squeeze. Steve wonders if that’s as hot for her as it is for him, knowing he’s wearing her fluids.

Steve has no concerns with entering the house near midnight. He doesn’t have a curfew for very different reasons than the more common apathy or parental claim to trust their teenager’s choices. His parents discipline extends as far as image goes. If Steve Harrington’s car is seen late at night that means he’s selling his time as a commodity and people are buying. He’s worth something, if others want him.

From the front door, the house appears dark. He’s not surprised. Mom may still be awake, sipping at whatever vintage she’s chosen for the evening, but she’ll have isolated herself in her lounge, with her records playing low. Dad will have to be up at six am if he wants to make his dinner conference call with Tokyo, he’d be frosty at best if she woke him. Steve, too, does his best to ascend the stairs without making excessive noise. Their bedrooms are on opposite sides of the second floor, so it won’t be too bad once his door is closed, but the stairs are right in the middle.

There’s a nearly imperceptible pause at the top of the stairs. Steve did the most he could do, ordering them to come inside his house. He can’t force them to abandon their usual guest room to sleep beside him. If they’re ready to start reconstructing the barrier between best friends and lovers he has to accept that. It makes him a shitty friend if he doesn’t. Just because Nancy doesn’t love him doesn’t mean Tommy and Carol have to, beyond the ways they always have. And Tommy’s not going to be the one to push either. He’s already used up all of his courage just to kiss him that first time. It has to be Carol who lets this continue.

Never let it be said Carol Perkins doesn’t know her own mind. With body language that indicates how stupid it is for someone to abruptly stop in front of her, she swerves around both of them to make it for Steve’s room. Steve doesn’t waste time in following her, and she’s still already peeling off her layers by the time Tommy’s closing the door behind them. The attraction is almost enough to prevent his yawn, but physical compulsions can’t help but win over mental stimulation.

“Go nap,” Carol instructs, pulling one of Steve’s oversized swim team hoodies over her otherwise naked body. “We’ll wake you up in a bit for a round two.”

“Round two?” He was hoping, but it’s confirmation he loves to hear.

“We didn’t even get our shirts off. There’s no way we’re not doing a far more naked round two.” Carol doesn’t even say it as a question, just a statement.

“Rummy?” Tommy asks, picking a deck of cards up from his desk and shaking them in Carol’s direction.

“Yeah,” Carol answers, sitting on the left side of Steve’s bed.

“We’ve definitely seen each other with shirts off,” Steve refutes as he proves his own point by stripping down and kicking his clothes in the general direction of the hamper. Steve has a pool, after all. He’s seen Tommy in trunks a thousand times. And there was even the summer between freshman and sophomore year where Carol had this weird feminist phase and said if guys could go topless, girls could too. Even if you don’t count totally platonic partially nude interactions, Steve’s walked in on or been near their sex a few dozen times, and they’ve done the same towards him.

“Yeah, but have I tugged on your chest hair? Have you licked my cleavage or pinched Tommy’s nipples?”

“You’ve definitely tugged on my chest hair at least once.” Carol gets grabby when she gets drunk. “But I’ll grant you the others.”

“Well this time I’ll be doing it with purpose. And you’re going to be giving it your full attention, not yawning through it.” Carol pats the unimpeded length of mattress beside her. “Nod off, baby, we’ll be here when you wake up.”

There’s no guilt in it, the way Carol’s commanding it. No locker room sense that he’s different than the other guys, and is failing the girl he’s with. They just know him, and know he needs sleep, and it’s the easiest thing, a matter of scant minutes, to drift off beside his friends crosslegged and entertaining themselves. Tommy’s barely even begun to shuffle when Steve stops hearing anything, sight long since abandoned by closed eyes.

Steve wakes up to rhythmic motion. It takes him a second to place himself in his body and figure out what’s happening. As soon as he does, all the blood in his body rushes to his cock so fast he might have gotten lightheaded were he upright. There’s no chance for that now though, not with how he’s pinned.

He’s on his side in the middle of the bed. He doesn’t really remember stripping down before climbing in, but he’s clad only in boxers. Boxers that aren’t concealing anything, the way they’ve been twisted. The waistband is way down, tucked into the crease under his buttocks. The adjustment has given Tommy the room to spoon behind him and rock the length of his erection between Steve’s cheeks. And rather than be on the other side of her boyfriend, Carol’s chosen to be on the right side of the bed, facing Steve. Sort of. A large portion of her isn’t a mirrored face to face, crotch to crotch, knees to knees. Her torso’s arching over him, chin on his shoulder, maybe so she can look at Tommy. It’s the least she can do to reciprocate when Tommy’s feeling up her left leg on Steve’s thigh, seemingly delighted that Carol’s spreading her legs open in just the right way to get her pussy on Steve’s quad.

“Wow,” Steve murmurs as soon as he can cut through the thick lust of being used. It’s not the most witty he’s ever been, but at least it’s coherent.

“We were trying to decide the best way to wake you up,” Carol explains, never ceasing in her grinding.

“Well, I’m up,” Steve answers. He doesn’t mean it as an innuendo but Tommy absolutely takes it that way, based on the goggle. It’s nice, in a way. Steve appreciates a lot of different sex-moods, romantic and rushed and kinky, but there’s something to be said for casual and silly. A girl -a person- who can laugh with their bits on display, it’s just a good time.

Tommy shifts the hand on Carol’s leg to Steve’s dick. It’s a different angle than his first handjob, but Steve has full confidence in Tommy to get the job done. Just Tommy’s dick sliding up and down his crack is getting him halfway there. “Yeah you are, man.”

“Did you guys want to finish like this, or did you have other ideas?” Stsve has no problem being a human body pillow if they want something easy, as long as he can rub one out after. But this could easily turn into real sex too. Even if he didn’t have condoms in his dresser drawer, Mrs Perkins has been lending Carol her birth control prescription since she was thirteen. It’s not like she needs it for Mr Perkins anyway. From what Steve knows they’re pretty sexless, more like roommates.

“I want all the lights on when we fuck,” Carol answers. And sure Steve could point out that if one of them gets off of him for just a minute they can flick the light switch and get on that requirement right now, but he’d prefer to take the implicit invitation to even more times. In Carol’s mind this might be queueing up to be Steve as an occasional dash of spice in their settled relationship, and Steve’s all for it.

They all go quiet for a minute, focused on their own bodies. Steve tries his best to stay still. Both of his friends have already calibrated their motions against what he’s offering. If he starts moving, that’s their pressure and rhythm and warmth gone. It’s a little difficult to not pump his ass back to get Tommy really meeting him, but it’d take him away from Carol’s pussy. And if he cants his hip up to provide a firmness surface for Carol, it opens his legs in an unhelpful way for Tommy.

Maybe it’s a way to make Steve more of an active participant. Maybe it’s just because Carol has been a filthy minded gossip since elementary school. Either way, the silence breaks with Carol whispering in his ear. Their heads are so close she barely needs to speak for Steve to hear her. But it’s not a true whisper, nothing private, because Tommy’s nose is on his nape, and there’s no way for him to miss a word she’s saying.

“You should let Tommy in, Steve. Can confirm he knows what he’s doing. Bet you five bucks he’d find the prostate as well as he finds the gspot.”

Steve hadn’t thought about that, but the logic tracks. And Steve was never not going to let him top anyway. Steve has been pretty much exclusively the bottom since he realised the grander scope of what he likes. Partially out of lack of opportunity -not a chance in hell Silver Fox would ever bottom- but also for the variety. He automatically tops every girl he dates, why not go for something else when he can.

“Can you imagine letting him in? Can you imagine anyone? You ever have a girl finger your ass? It’s okay, you can tell us now,” Carol croons like she knows it’s risqué even for friends who’ve seen each other fuck. Hawkins Tigers of any team don’t just let their girls do that, it would send the wrong message. An act between a girl and a boy that’s regardless incredibly gay.

“No, but the silver fox guy has, a bunch of times. It’s pretty necessary if you want to get fucked.” But fuck, is she right. He wants Tommy’s fingers in him, deep and searching. Or Carol’s. Steve’s not picky.

“Who?”

“What? Did you not tell her?” Steve asks, arcing his head just enough that he can see Tommy in his periphery. For a month Steve’s been working under the assumption that Tommy told her the minute he found out. They’re Tommy and Carol, practically the co-owners of one brain. But maybe like Steve vowing to keeping the cheating with Munson secret to mask Tommy, Tommy didn’t tell Carol just how often in the last two years Steve’s gone cruising.

“He told me you thought him being with a guy was hot. Which is true, and you thinking it’s hot is even hotter.” The way Carol’s rutting against his upper thigh, leaving smeared streaks of come all over his skin is proof enough that she’s into Steve being into Tommy. “Why, was there more to tell?”

Damn. Steve’s gonna have to say thanks, later, when it’s just him and Tommy. How honourable. “There’s a cruising spot in Abilene Park. I’ve met three guys there. Two, just once. But one, this hot older guy, on and off for the last two years.”

“Apparently he likes to give him candy. All the taffy’s been from rich hot daddy,” Tommy sneers.

“No way. I knew you were bi. I didn’t think you were that bi.” Carol’s brow goes contemplative. “I don’t know if that’s sexy or tragic. At least Tommy found Munson. He’s pretty decent, for a freak.”

“He’s nice too. He gives me gifts, and usually when we’re done he strokes my hair and calls me precious boy.” Steve’s taken the feeling of a hand in his hair home to an empty silent numbing house more than once.

“Yeah, but I bet he doesn’t let you sleep in his car. Does he.” Tommy says flatly.

“Cruising isn’t really set up for lingering afterwards.” He can’t blame the man for that. He shows consideration in other ways, like the treats.

“Focus,” Carol snaps out, pulling Steve away from his defense and Tommy from his irritation. “We can talk about whatever guy thinks he’s good enough for Steve later.” Okay, she’s clearly on Tommy’s side of the fence. Two for two unhappy about his cruising. “For now, the important info is Tommy, you could fuck Steve. No convincing. No compromise. He’ll just get on his hands and knees for you. Won’t you, King Steve?”

Since they’re cranky against Silver Fox, Steve probably shouldn’t mention it’s the position he’s most familiar with as it’s the easiest for a Lincoln backseat. Omitting is a perfectly valid people manipulation strategy.

“Yeah. Yeah, man. Any time. Whenever.”

It maybe sounds a little desperate but he thinks he can get away with it. Steve’s always been the one to need their friendship the most, and he’s tried to be cool about that, but he can do this right now. He’s not being a clingy friend, or even a clingy lover, the kind you make sure to never call up for a second date. Like this, it’s just dirty talk. Nothing that’s too much for anyone. Everyone benefits from Steve desperately wanting Tommy to fuck him.

“Come on baby, show him how you’d do it,” Carol croons. Steve shudders as Carol grinds down and Tommy grinds in. It feels like they’re trying to fuck each other through him. They really have him pinched between them, squeezing his firm surfaces like they’re getting the toothpaste out of the tube. Steve could almost be worried about bruising tomorrow.

It’s hot, being teased in all directions like this. It’s an effect only a threesome can offer, and while locker room talk proves it’s on every teenage guy’s mind, not a lot of people actually try for something so kinky. With Carol wetting his thigh and digging her chin into his shoulder, Tommy a solid surface against his spine, Steve doesn’t know how the people who have threesomes ever do anything else. He doesn’t even need Tommy’s hand on his cock, which has moved back onto Carol, holding her knee down. He only needs the way the head of Tommy’s cock rubs against his rim. If he pressed just a little bit harder, acted a little more insistent, Tommy could be inside him. Steve wishes he would.

Another few minutes of sliding in his own precome and catching the tip of his cock on his hole and it’s a done deal for Tommy. Steve lies there, taking it, as Tommy shoots off up and down his ass crack. He’s used a condom every time he’s gone to park, Silver Fox’s insistence as well as his own. It feels different, being able to trust another man enough to let their jizz drip into his hole. Harringtons don’t trust, because it’s naive, and time and time again the axiom has proven true, Nancy hours ago just another instance. Tommy and Carol are his only exceptions.

“He’s so wet with you, baby,” Carol moans. Steve only gets out half a groan as Tommy’s spent cock twitches forward from the filthy words before Carol is kissing him. Tommy’s all over his ass, this time not backing away an inch, keeping a solid presence as Carol strives to get her own. Cradling isn’t usually a sexy concept, but Steve feels equal parts incredibly turned on and taken care of.

On the scale of these things, it’s a little orgasm for Carol. She doesn’t flood Steve’s leg with a torrent of come. But an orgasm is an orgasm, clitoral or g-spot, a squeal is a squeal, and if she wanted more Steve has no doubt that she’d happily chase it. Carol doesn’t accept less than she deserves.

Instead of riding his thigh to a second orgasm, Carol drops down onto her side enough that she can curl a freshly lime green manicured hand around his dick. Tommy eases his pelvis back just enough to touch his fingertips to Steve’s hole, massaging the spurts of come into the sensitive skin. Steve can’t take that for long. He bites his lip as Carol milks his cock for all its worth, Tommy ensuring he never feels empty despite all that’s pouring out.

“Okay, nap now,” Carol declares, patting Steve’s forehead with her clean hand even as she wipes the palm of jizz on his chest. Something else to add to the spank bank; being covered from nipples to ass to hip in come. Steve watches through half lidded eyes as Carol and Tommy both stand. Much like Steve, Tommy runs hot in the night. Rather than have a shoulder vent, he likes his feet out of the blankets. He’s the only freak Steve knows who sleeps in an unzipped sleeping bag. Carol has to take the middle of the bed, just so the blanket can be negotiated.

The next time Steve wakes up, it’s far less erotic. It is, unfortunately, a bog standard groggy yawning wake up, complete with noticeable morning breath thanks to not brushing before bed last night. Somewhere between the yawn that busts out of his face and the arched back stretch, Carol wakes beside him.

“First dibs on the bathroom, fuckers,” she announces, slapping them both on the chest. If Tommy wasn’t awake before, he is now, with her handprint in swiftly fading red between his nipples.

Steve watches Carol go. It’s a luscious sight, Carol flitting out of the room and presumably down the hallway to the linen closet currently storing their clean clothing, naked aside from the Hoosiers jacket she’s stolen. Steve’s heard about Tommy fucking her in just that jacket, and seeing it, he understands the urge. The rich crimson of Indiana contrasts nicely against her strawberry blonde hair. He has to wonder if it looks just as compelling compared to the dark pink of her pussy. Sex twice, and he still hasn’t gotten a complete look of her. He wants that.

Unlike probably most family homes, Carol parading half naked down the hall isn’t a problem. Dad’s long since committed himself to business. There are no family breakfast lectures on weekends, not when there’s networking to do. Either he’s left for a meeting, or he’s holed up in his office, not to be disturbed. The specifics don’t matter, because he’s not in the hallway. As for mother, if she happens to wake up before noon it’s not like Tommy and Carol haven’t been over a million times in the last decade. Mom doesn’t leave the master bedroom in anything less than a luxurious robe and full makeup, she won’t be upset about Steve springing them on her. Carol’s partial nudity wouldn’t be the first or last time his parents’ll witness the aftermath of their relationship. They are, as Mom would put it, indecorous.

“We’re going to keep doing this, right?” Tommy asks, breaking the silence that’s fallen on the room in the absence of their binding force.

Steve rolls onto his side to better talk this out, but it’s for naught. He can’t exactly make eye contact when Tommy is determinedly staring at the ceiling, hands balled into fists on either side of his stiff body.

“What, screwing? I don’t see why not. You’re way different than Silver Fox-” fucking understatement of the century. Silver Fox makes him feel used in the sexiest way, while screwing around with Carol and Tommy is friendship at its finest. “And if you don’t say I’m different to the Freak, I’ll throw myself under a bus.” Steve will grant Munson that he’s probably good in bed, but his entire… everything is nothing Steve would ever strive to be. “It’d be a new thing.”

“Yeah, cool.”

Yeah, it is cool. A great way to heal the heartbreak of Nancy spitting on what they could have had. Except Steve’s known Tommy for a decade, and that’s not a tone he hears often. ‘I disagree but I don’t want to argue’ isn’t a tone you get from Tommy Bulldog Hagan often. Mostly just with Carol, who can and always could rip Tommy’s balls off. And Steve’s not always one for pressing shit, but this sounds like something they need to hash out. Problem being, the best way to communicate with Tommy is to figure out what’s running through his head, and lead the conversation where they want it. Steve and Carol both excel at it. Unfortunately he doesn’t quite get the angle of upset this time. Steve wonders if Tommy thinks last night passed his stupid ‘drugged sex isn’t gay’ law but there’s no excuse now in the harsh light of day. Or is it just that he’s naturally monogamous, and one-offs away from Carol land differently than an ongoing sex grenade bestie.

“Hey, do you not want to do this again? Because I know Carol was into it, but if you can’t tell her no, I can.” They’re both belligerent people, his best friends, and sometimes they clash. Usually Steve doesn’t pick sides, but if Tommy is uncomfortable and unable to say so, Steve can come in with the assist. Make it his resistance, not Tommy’s.

“I tell Carol no all the time.”

Steve politely refrains from scoffing. If it hurts Tommy’s ego less to think that’s true, why not.

“It’s gonna sound really faggy,” he says, sigh woven through the warning.

Steve can’t help his eye roll. For a month now, they’ve been operating on the mutual understanding of an interest in men. Sure they vowed to not talk about it, but that didn’t mean they weren’t who they are. “You almost had a finger in my ass three hours ago. I think we’re past that.”

“You and Carol are my best friends. I love you both, and that only falls in different categories by me fucking her but not you. I don’t care what people say about getting the picket fence and the wife, girlfriends aren’t more important than bros. You don’t just drop bros for the girl you’re giving flowers to. It’s still love, it’s just different. But if I love you and we are fucking, maybe I love you.”

“Wow. Shit.” Tommy’s still not looking at him, but Steve can’t take his eyes off of his adam’s apple, the line of his throat.

“Yeah,” he sighs heavily.

“Hey, hey. Not a bad wow.” Tommy’s obviously feeling this revelation in a different way Steve is. “It’s just, any of the girls who’ve said I love you were super shallow. They loved The Hair Harrington, at best. You saying it is-”

“Gay.” Tommy’s interruption is edging on self loathing, and Steve hates that.

“Fucksakes, man. I already told you, I think most people are into both, they just don’t talk about it. You’re no gayer than the average guy on the team. Lennie knows everyone’s dick length, has all the Tigers in a ranking for godsakes.”

“It’s a cool party trick. He should be a carpenter or something,” Tommy jokes. And he’s not even wrong. Lennie’s ability to accurately eyeball measurements to an eighth of an inch has been tested at many a party. It’s just the comment is the kind of avoidance that makes Steve and Carol have to manipulate him into problem solving when he can’t just use brute strength. They’re not talking about goddamn Lennie right now.

“You shouldn’t be upset about sucking the Freak’s dick, or mine, if you do some day. It’s not too gay. And there’s no sense in being upset about being in love with me. Not when you know how pathetically I want to be loved by someone.” Because that’s always been the truth they’re too nice to make him seriously talk about; that Steve’s tried so hard to find a good loyal lover because his parents have no inclination to ever say I love you, and that he’s always needed Carol and Tommy more than they’ve needed him. And if Tommy’s saying now that he might love him, Steve can’t let that go.

“We’ve always loved you, man. I just didn’t know it was in a gay way, until the sex was good. And I don’t even know if it’s just me, or if she loves you loves you too.”

Steve shrugs. “I was gonna be happy to be your sex guest, making shit more fun and dirty, no feelings attached. It’s just a bonus that you like me. She doesn’t have to.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if she’ll be okay that her boyfriend does. This has been hot, really really hot, but I’m still her goddamn boyfriend!” Tommy bursts out.

Steve genuinely doesn’t anticipate it being a problem. It’s a nearing one hundred percent chance Carol already knows her boyfriend’s in love with her best friend. She already knows every other thing about her boyfriend, and over the years has in fact informed Tommy about many things in his own character. She wouldn’t have let the car turn into what it did if she wasn’t confident in her ability to manage her boyfriend’s feelings.

“Look, why don’t you climb into the shower with her. Talk it out. Make sure she knows you still love her. We’ll have breakfast after, strategize where we’re hanging out this weekend. Same as always. No matter what happens, it’s not gonna change the three of us being best friends.”

“Yeah. Fuck it. Yeah. Okay.” Tommy’s resolution grows, and he levers himself out of bed. Seeing him naked ascending out of Steve’s sheets makes Steve want to pull him right back in, grab that ass and suck that dick, but that would be counter to his plan of settling Tommy’s mind over what he’s allowed to want. Steve got him in the envelope, but Carol’s going to sign seal and deliver it with her wet skin and aggressive kiss. Steve’s sure of it.

As much as the idea of spending the day slightly itchy and reeking of all the dried come coated on him appeals, Steve knows he needs to shower too. He’s got shit to do today. Walking in on the two of them would also counter his plan -Carol needs to feel in control and Tommy needs to be ready to come to him- so Steve just takes an armful of clothing with him to the first floor full bath. It’s a good shower for hangovers, the navy fabric shower curtain blocking far more light than upstairs’ translucent plastic does, but Steve doesn’t care about that feature at the moment. He just wants to get clean, and style his hair until there’s no trace of bedhead.

By the time his routine is complete, he can hear voices in the kitchen. Considering how unlikely it is to be his parents, Steve doesn’t hesitate in heading straight there. It’s nice, to see them both at the table eating breakfast in the clothing they’ve kept here. Steve doesn’t even need to ask. The mood is much too light for there to still be a problem.

“Do you wanna do a rail and go down on each other?” Tommy asks, looking up from his bowl of cereal, a small dribble of milk escaping from the corner of his mouth. It should be a childish turn off, but for as long as Steve’s known him, Tommy’s been a messy eater. It’s grown on him, just like Carol’s bedroom always smelling like nail polish and acetone. Sometimes she doesn’t even go a full twenty four hours with one colour.

“Is it still a sixty nine if there’s three people?” Carol asks, waving around the strawberry speared on the end of her fork.

Steve’s still the slightest bit annoyed by the drugged sex makes it less gay reference, but at least now Tommy is actively asking for gay sex, sober, in the light of day. Maybe their shower talk really got through to him. Maybe it’s not a method of denial, maybe he just wants to get high and fool around. It is the weekend, after all. A great time to get fucked up. “Coke’s not my favourite drug. We could do it on E?”

Carol dips the piece of waffle into the mountain of whipped cream on the side of her plate. Mouth full of Kellogg’s frozen and thawed best work, Carol answers “I don’t have any on me. We’d have to go buy some from Eddie.”

“Yeah, no thanks. We’re not seeing Munson right now.” If Tommy is newly comfortable with his interests, the last thing Steve needs is a man who knows what he’s doing to get back in the mix.

“Well, I don’t need drugs to have sex with either of you,” Carol announces. “Who wants to crawl under the table and give me head while I finish my waffle?”

Tommy looks up at Steve. “Wrestle for it?”

Steve isn’t that desperately committed to winning. If he doesn’t get to bury his face in her pussy now, he’ll just do it next time. The mood in the room is very positive towards multiple times, maybe all the way to graduation and beyond. Still, he can’t envision turning down an opportunity to grapple while being allowed to get a hard on. Play fighting has always gotten him a little too hot under the collar considering the clique of guys he spends most of his time with. This’ll be an indulgence.

He has to move fast. Any second now Tommy’s spoon will dip into his bowl in an effort to shove the scene along before it gets too awkward, and Steve doesn’t want to fling milk everywhere. Steve lowers his centre of gravity and rushes at the chair, putting enough elbow into it that the mohagony topples. The loud clatter is met only with Carol’s faux aloof scoff, like she’s not going to be watching every moment. There’s not a reaction from outside of the kitchen, no demand to explain himself or benzo and wine softened indifferent inquiry, proving Dad out of the house and Mom still sleeping. The guarantee of privacy cements it for Steve that this boys at play scene is going to end in dick to dick grinding at least, if not cocksucking. For all the times he ever wanted to pound a guy into the dirt and couldn’t, Tommy’s going to take it. Take it, and give it, in equal amounts, and maybe Steve ends up on the bottom, but it’ll be earned.

Steve pushes the chair to the side, kicking it further after a moment of thinking. If they end up doing a lot of rolling, a lot of power exchange, he doesn’t want to be impeded. There’s nothing he can do about the table legs, but if they encounter the cupboards at least those are firm enough to be a surface to pin someone on.

Tommy had the wind knocked out of him for a second, but he is straight up giggling by the time Steve climbs on top of him. It kind of ruins the ultra masculine wrestling vibe Steve was rapidly buying into, but it’s not a big deal. It won’t take much to talk Carol into talking Tommy into real roleplay. He can give him something more silly now. Steve rolls Tommy onto his back, and then puts his weight through his palms on his buddy’s shoulders. Instead of tensing and preparing for a real grapple, Steve just leans in until his lips are gusting hot air over his chin.

“I’m gonna get your girl,” he whispers, before biting Tommy’s lip. Tommy’s pelvis rockets up, erection crashing against Steve’s hardening cock. Look at who’s not laughing anymore. Out of his periphery, Steve can see Carol crossing her legs under the table, hopefully in an effort to give herself some pressure.

“Wait, what time’s your detention?” Steve asks, straddling Tommy with his head held up just enough for speech.

Carol shrugs. “Fuck it. Like I give a shit.”

“No, you should go,” Steve says, sitting up with his legs stretched around Tommy. The power of Tommy looking at him confused but not asking what he’s doing is getting to his head a little, making his cock throb, but he doesn’t give up his train of thought. “Otherwise they’re going to try to contact your parents.” The Perkins don’t have an answering machine that they can game the system with, the secretary will just keep calling and calling until there’s an adult on the line.

“Like Mom gives a shit. She’s just gonna not give me ten bucks the next time I ask for it.”

“A ten bucks you’ll need to take your stallions out on the town.”

“Hah! Screwing two guys is even more reason for me to never go Dutch.”

“Look, it’ll be a lot easier if you just go to detention. We’ll make it worth your while,” Steve says, standing. His cock is an obvious pole in his jeans, but he stands by his point. It’s just more practical to get this over with. If it has the added bonus of leaving them all on tenterhooks for hours, that’s just a fun coincidence.

“Oh yeah? How are you going to make that happen?” Carol prompts, voice shifting into a tempestuous register.

Steve smirks. “Spend the entire four hours daydreaming up an arrangement and when we pick you up we’ll play it out.”

“Like, fucking flowers? So not worth it.” Carol wrinkles her nose. “I can’t believe you thought-”

Steve interrupts. “Yeah, no, I didn’t. I didn’t mean daydream about peonies and petunias. Spend four hours thinking about the best possible sex you could ever have, and when you make it out, we’ll do it. Down to the letter.”

“You don’t know that for sure. Maybe I have kinks.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “No shit. Everyone has kinks. And mine is thrilling my partners, no matter what. Whatever it is, we’ll do it. Otherwise it’s not making detention worth it, is it.”

The offer’s enough to get Carol into Hawkins High by nine fifty five. With Tommy finally able to collect his car, Steve follows in his own to the Hagan house. The Hagans are solidly middle class, nothing destitute enough to embarrass Dad and try to put a stop to their friendship, but hardly on the level of the Harringtons. There’s no Heloise to get things done, only two parents with office jobs working enough hours to necessitate chore lists on the fridge. Steve sits on the counter as Tommy washes the dishes, stands beside him as he rakes leaves, and follows him to the supermarket for groceries. By the time everything is dispersed into the cupboards, there’s only time for a bit of television before Steve’s climbing into Tommy’s passenger seat to go pick up his girlfriend. Their girlfriend? Probably not. If anything, Tommy might be their boyfriend, both he and Carol claiming him, but Steve’s pretty sure Carol doesn’t love him romantically. That’s fine, as long as she loves him, and is entertained by him. Sexy best friends is more than enough to satisfy him.

There are three other cars in the parking lot. Mr Mundy, Kelly Jennings, and Brian Deacon all come out and go to their respective vehicles, and some no name freshman grabs his bike. Any other day, and Steve would guess Carol whittled away the time by passing notes to Kelly every time Mr Mundy’s eyes were averted, but today he knows exactly what her mind was occupied with. Well, not exactly. Steve doesn’t know that until Carol hurries across the lot once the other cars have peeled away, and climbs into the back seat only to lean forward and bite down on first Tommy’s then Steve’s earlobe, sucking the skin like she’s got a real appetite. Any semblance of reserve Steve built up during the calm of chores wipes away the instant her tongue touches flesh. He wants her, and he wants Tommy, and he wants them to want him. And the best thing of all is that he gets it.

“I want Steve to eat me out while Tommy fingers him,” Carol announces into the valley between their seats.

“Fuck,” Tommy barks, slapping the steering wheel a few times.

“Yeah. Yeah, easy,” Steve answers. He said he’d go along with everything, but that’s barely anything. What sane person could ever even raise an eyebrow at the request? It’s basic, it’s easy, and it’s so hot he wants to shove his hand down his jeans in the middle of the parking lot. None of it can happen in the passenger seat of a Ford, but he wants it.

“Let’s get somewhere with a fucking bed,” Tommy declares. He rotates his fists on the steering wheel, then slams his foot on the gas, leaving Carol and Steve to scramble for their seat belts.

The Perkins house is out. While they’re probably all used to the sounds of their daughter and her boyfriend when they fail to muffle themselves properly, adding Steve to that mix isn’t safe. The Hagans won’t be home until five, weekend workers same as Dad albeit for very different reasons, but Steve isn’t all that surprised when Tommy cruises into Loch Nora first. He’s spent enough time here over the years that he’s probably got a fantasy or two about Steve’s pool, or plaid bedroom, or the backyard woods. Steve draws the line at joining them in the master bedroom, despite the fireplace, but anywhere else is good to go. Upon confirmation that there are no cars in the driveway, both of his parents gone, Tommy parks and they hustle inside.

Despite Tommy’s determined words, they don’t make it to Steve’s room. Desperation is a fun variant on the living room lover, someone driven by instant gratification, not the ability to make excuses. Steve’s barely got his shoes off before Carol’s tugging him forward, tongue down his throat as they step backwards to the couch. She takes a second to kick off her jeans and panties, and then there she is, on the edge of the couch cushion, legs spread. Why in the fuck would Steve mar the scene in front of him to suggest they keep moving? They’ve been simmering for four hours, taking thirty seconds to climb a flight of stairs is offensive when Steve can just shuck off his clothes and drop to his knees.

Steve loves eating pussy. Any guy who says he doesn’t is a fuckin’ lunatic, or has a broken moral compass. Like holy boy Jason Carver probably doesn’t go down on Chrissy Cunningham until she screams. It’d be sex before marriage, for one thing. And for another, not keeping in line with the proper roles. Christian men don’t degrade themselves in the service of women like that. Good thing Steve’s a goddamn sinner, then.

Without wasting time on foreplay, Steve licks down the centre of her. She’s already wet from the non-stop fantasies, four hours of ultimately rejected but nevertheless torrid scenarios. He’s going to make her wetter. He’s going to end up with her juices all over him. Fuckin’ perfection. He’s got nothing but disdain for anyone too stupid to not do this as often as they can.

Around the time that Tommy slots in behind him, cock once again sliding against his asscrack, Carol’s right leg settles over his shoulder. It’s good, but it could be better. Steve pauses in collecting his nourishment to hook his arms around her knees and pull her forward. His intent is just to get her pussy as in his face as it can, but even champions fail sometimes. In this case, too much enthusiasm. Steve pulls Carol forward enough that her ass fully slides off the couch. She ends up awkwardly splayed in the space between Steve and the vertical footrest.

“Oops,” Steve giggles.

“Wow. So smooth,” Tommy jabs. Tommy’s chin hooked on his shoulder means he’s just witnessed it all. It’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened, Carol’s not even upset, but Steve can already imagine Tommy prodding him to tell the guys at the lunch table about that time he made a lover fall off the couch.

“It’ll be smooth when I have her coming all over the floor,” Steve retorts. They’re words that take back the sexual power, and they’re truth besides. He wants to create a puddle they’ll need the shop vac in the garage to soak up.

Carol, who’s scootched over enough that she’s got room to spread her legs unimpeded, commands, “put your mouth where your money is, Harrington.”

That’s not the saying, but Steve gets it. He crawls the few feet over to her, very aware of how Tommy and Carol’s eyes are both on him. If anything, this is an even hotter position than displayed on the couch. For one thing, it puts him on his hands and knees like Carol implied Tommy wanted. Well, knees and elbows. Being up on his hands would put him too far away from her gorgeously glistening pussy. Steve loves knowing he’s getting people off, even passively. He’d give a blowjob upside down, doing a keg stand, if that’s what Tommy wanted.

Of course, Tommy’s not looking for a blowjob right now. Carol asked for something else, and they’re following her holy scriptures. Tommy knows as well as Steve where the small stashes of sexual supplies are around the property, has spent years fucking Carol whenever the opportunity arises. Steve doesn’t actually see Tommy go raid the end table stocked up for couch girls, but the effort becomes obvious once lube is waterfalling down his asscrack. Tommy’s definitely overusing it, but maybe that’s just Munson’s style.

Steve can’t help his moan as Tommy pushes his first finger inside. It’s been a while since he last had something up his ass. Takes too much effort to employ the method for a casual jerk off session. Between the awkward positioning required, and the struggling through lube clean up in his post orgasm lethargy, a more basic hand on dick approach always wins. Nor has he gotten anal from other avenues. He hasn’t been to the park since the beginning of October, when his infatuation with Nancy Wheeler started. It’s not that Steve’s forgotten how good it feels. It’s hard to forget pleasure. It’s less surprise, more gratitude. With Carol implying that Tommy only bottomed too, Steve is lucky he was willing to give that up for Carol’s entertainment.

“Do it again, babes,” Carol commands to Tommy.

“I mean I probably shouldn’t put a second in already?” Steve guesses the ‘probably’ is based on Munson’s speed or lackthereof. But Steve’s no delicate newb, needing half an hour of prep.

He lifts his head up from Carol’s pussy to say ‘you could’. The words are barely out of his mouth when Carol shoves the flat of her palm against the back of his head, pushing him back down. “Get back there.”

Steve happily goes. Like he’s going to protest getting his tongue all over her pretty crinkly labia. Might as well protest the Captain nomination, or the weekly deposits into his bank account, if he’s going to be that self sabotaging.

“I can feel his moans vibrating through my pussy. Do whatever you did again, now.”

This time Tommy obeys. Steve makes sure to press his mouth flush against Carol as Tommy sinks a second finger into him. He wants her to feel every note of his only slightly exaggerated groan. If she likes it enough to be bossy about it, it’s unquestionably something Steve wants to give to her.

He keeps up the wordless narration as Tommy plays his body, curving and crooking and pumping his fingers. Carol wasn’t wrong. Tommy’s got years of expertise expertly deploying his fingers, and a slick channel to manipulate is a slick channel. Tommy plays him to the edge of orgasm, then, just when Steve thinks he’s going to shoot off all over his floor, cock untouched because who needs a goddamn handie when there’s a prostate, Tommy pulls his fingers out entirely. Carol’s pussy is the first to hear of the loss, another moan he can’t help but make. Her thighs clamping around his head are his solace.

Steve has just enough time to feel his gaping hole shrinking, and feel the sharp delicious shame of being disappointed over the feeling, before the head of Tommy’s cock is nudging against him. Tommy’s bigger than three fingers, and the burn of him insisting his way in takes the edge off of the urge to orgasm. Not by much, Steve’s long since acclimated himself to the sexiness of rushed prep, but enough to not ruin the night by prematurely coming.

Tommy fucks him like he can’t stand to be out of him. He barely withdraws before rocking forward again, entire body molded to Steve like a melting blanket, like he’s fucking him as much with his thighs and pelvis and belly as his cock. It’s far more aggressive than Silver Fox’s method, all clinging and sweaty instead of a mastery of clinical technique. Regardless of what Carol and Tommy think, Steve doesn’t regret those evenings, but he thinks he can put it to bed for a while in pursuit of this. It’s impossible to not be captivated by the scent of Carol’s pussy and Tommy rocking into him. He does his best to show he’s worthy of such gifts, finding Carol’s g-spot and giving her the pressure she needs.

When Carol douses his face for the first time, shrieking through an orgasm that has her spraying on him, Tommy does the right thing, squeezing his balls painfully tight. The distraction, though brutal, fends off the orgasm naturally provoked by being soaked by Carol. His vision is blurry until he takes a hand off her spread thighs to wipe his eyes dry. Sight only informs him of what he already knew; Carol Perkins is the hottest girl of Hawkins High. Her chest is flush with exertion, her nipples taut peaks, and her lower half is covered in whatever fluid ricocheted off the barrier of his face to fall back down on her skin. Tommy is a lucky lucky man. Steve is too, for however long this lasts.

Without a word of warning, Tommy uses his brute strength to haul Steve up onto his knees. With his back to Tommy’s chest it becomes a sort of reverse cowgirl. Not a position Steve usually goes for, with girls. Sure he appreciates a good mane of hair, but he’d rather be able to see her face, or her boobs. It also puts more of the ball in Steve’s court, making him choose to rise up and down on Tommy’s cock rather than Tommy just fucking him his way. Steve isn’t so much of a Princess that he doesn’t want to, but he doesn’t understand why. What they were already doing was good, and what Carol wanted. Why change it?

The answer comes quickly. With Steve facing forward, Carol can shuck a condom on his dick faster than peeling an ear of corn. That taken care of -and he gets the caution, they don’t know Silver Fox like he does- Carol can spread wide to position herself onto Steve’s cock. Tommy and Carol do it standing up a lot, or so he’s been told. After so much second hand knowledge, it feels natural for Carol’s hands to be on his shoulders, balancing herself as she rides him.

Steve tries his best to stave off his orgasm. It’s been in the back of his mind for most of the day now, imagining Carol whispering filthy lines to Tommy in the grocery store, imagining Tommy’s bare ass before he ate him out against the tree they were raking the fallen leaves of, imagining Carol sitting on his cock on the drive home from detention, seatbelt trapping her onto his lap. He’s been horny all goddamn day, and now Tommy is fucking his ass, and he must be doing something for Carol because he can feel her juices dripping down his shaft, down his balls, and onto Tommy beneath him. It’s the hardest thing Steve’s ever done, but he holds back until Carol throws her head back against the couch and drenches his pubes. Not even reaching down to pinch his sack is enough to stop his ascension then. His only saving grace is the way his hole clenches down on Tommy as he spurts into his condom deep inside Carol’s heat. It’s either the physical sensation or the emotional triumph that spurs Tommy into his own climax, teeth gently marking Steve’s neck as he feels his best friend pulse inside him.

It’s with nothing but affection that Tommy pushes him up and off. He rises to his feet much easier than Steve does, and doesn’t waste a second in directing him to the couch to lay down. Steve’s last thought before nodding off is just how capable they both are, Carol peeling off his condom with a deft hand and Tommy grabbing a discarded shirt to start blotting Carol’s come out of the carpet. He’ll have to show his gratitude later. Rimming for both of them, maybe.

Carol’s still naked when Steve wakes up, though she’s relocated to the pool lounger, Tommy doing laps in the water beyond her. More evidence that the allegations of frostbite from his pool are bullshit, if she has a strong enough constitution to have her tits out in November.

The visual gives him an idea. Would he like to go out there and tread water behind Tommy, pin his hands to the ledge and his cock to the wall and rut against him until they both release in the chlorinated water, Carol watching them behind tinted sunglasses? Of course. Steadily metronoming between sex and naps sounds like the perfect way to spend a weekend. But is it the smartest thing to do? As Dad says, every minute is an opportunity to excel, a chance to control the unthinking masses. With all the rumours this week, he and Tommy and Carol are in a precarious position, one that will soon have the additional swinging weight of Nancy rejecting him. Give people the chance to think they know things, and shit gets out of hand.

Steve makes the call watching them out of the sliding glass door. He’s sacrificing immediate pleasure for a more secure future, assuming he gets permission, and that might be the boring choice, but Steve’s okay with it. Once they get back into a position of meek, unquestioning peers, they’ll have more space to get what they want. cord twisted around his finger, Steve jams the receiver tightly against his ear. Mrs Mullins, Howard’s secretary, talks quietly. Almost unprofessionally so. That she hasn’t been fired for it yet is hint enough that Howard has the same types of ulterior motives for his hiring practices as Dad does.

He only spends a few minutes on hold. Mr Tanner can’t answer straight away, of course. Being too busy for people is a classic powerplay. But the Harringtons pay well, and when they require advice, or assistance, it doesn’t pay to be unavailable. Once he’s on the line Steve hops to the point, outlining his idea, and his reasoning. If Mr Tanner says no, Steve’ll give it up without protest. Dad is still home, it would be insane to piss him off for the same reason twice in three days. Punishment multiplies exponentially when Dad thinks lessons aren’t learned.

Thankfully, Mr Tanner agrees it’s a good idea to strategically throw a pool party. It’s important to remind people he -and Tommy and Carol- can be good hosts, that any decision Barbara made to bolt was because of her own angst, not because they ran her out. It’ll be suspicious that Barbara’s best friend broke up with him days later, there’s no way to avoid that come Monday. But Steve can put his best foot forward, and make a backyard full of people all feel like his best friend, like it’d be ludicrous that he’d had anything to do with someone’s anguish and subsequent town fleeing temper tantrum.

It’s trying, to be as congenial as he usually is when Becca from the cheer squad brings Mark Lewinsky, who’s a total fucking cementhead Steve would like to shove into the water because the weight of his brick brain would make him drown like someone who crossed a mobster and Steve wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore. He definitely would have told Carol to not call Becca, if he’d known Lewinsky was coming. But it’s not all a facade. Kevin Langdon is hilarious as per usual, and Mark Polanski’s inevitable poker game is fun. Best of all, Ben G fucks off with Steve’s credit card to buy enough ribs and potatoes to barbecue dinner for them all. Steve’s like eighty percent sure the first baseman was the last person to fire up the grill, and possibly the user before that too. Tigers Baseball might be destined for yet another bad season in the spring, but Ben will be okay. He doesn’t need a sports scholarship to get into cooking school, after all.

It’s funny, how he doesn’t have to act any different. Since his first kiss, first girlfriend, Steve’s always had whatever group of guys he’s hanging with at the time tell him he’s pussy whipped, or henpecked, or whatever innocent term fifth graders use. Steve wouldn’t say he changes the core of himself, but he’s a partner pleaser, in bed and out. If there’s little things he can change to make the girl of the week happy, might as well. It’s not like it’ll be a permanent change. But he’s spent the last twenty four hours banging Carol and Tommy, and not a single change needed. Whatever level of affection they want to display is apparently the shit they do day in, day out, because there hasn’t been a fucking word about Tommy’s arm on his shoulder, or Carol sitting on his lap when there’s no free lounge chair, or the three of them eating off the same overloaded plate. Maybe Steve should have started dating them earlier, if nobody was ever going to find out. Not only is it safe with them, certainly safer than cruising, Tommy is also far more likely to reciprocate a blowjob.

It’s not Mom and Dad coming home that clears out the house. Steve hears the slamming car doors and hustles into the house to smooth things over, or at least remind them that scenes should be made in privacy, but he doesn’t get far in his explanation before Dad is interrupting to tell him Howard phoned to make him aware, and that it’s commendable he’s rehabilitating his reputation. It’s one of the most important things a man has, after all. No, it’s Becca and Mark breaking the seal, obviously intending to go home and fuck, and once one couple leaves, they’re all making their excuses.

“You guys want to stay?” Steve asks. He knows what he wants, but it’s not just about him. Tommy and Carol need their time alone too, or Carol’s going to get possessive and then the whole thing falls apart.

Carol pops her gum. “Let’s go for a drive. We’ll figure that out later.”

Steve’s not opposed. Late night drives are some of the better hangouts he’s had. And there’s sexy sense memory in them piling into his car. It doesn’t smell like sex anymore, Tommy helped him detail it during Carol’s detention, but that doesn’t stop Steve from imagining it. Even as Carol claims the passenger seat, he can close his eyes and imagine her jerking off in the back.

“Can you stop at Hank’s Home Hardware?” Carol asks, about twenty minutes into their drive.

Steve shrugs a shoulder at her. “I mean, I can go to their parking lot, but they’re not going to be open.”

“Well shit,” she whines, like she had no idea stores don’t stay open until eleven. “I was really hoping for spray paint, but we’ll have to put that off until tomorrow. Eggs from your fridge will have to do. Burns a hole in paint. Not that Byers’ hideous car needs more assistance in being the worst in Hawkins.”

“I have spray paint,” Tommy answers.

She turns to Steve. He’s aware he’s showing his confusion on his face, but he’s not sure why that provokes Carol’s cutting annoyance. “What? You thought we just forgot about justice?”

“It’s been a busy day.” Between the bouts of sex, the negotiation of a relationship, the wide smiled hosting, and navigating a conversation with his dad, the shittiness of his ex really has slipped to the back of his mind. It’s a temporary reprieve, Steve knows. He’s going to have to address it on Monday, pretend to seek out a girlfriend of the week like losing Nancy didn’t hurt, like he actually gives a crap about whomever’s flirting back when Tommy and Carol are right there. But until it’s Monday morning, he doesn’t have to worry about any of it, can just enjoy his time with them.

“Not too busy for avenging you,” Tommy declares.

It puts a smile on Steve’s face, knowing that somebody cares. He doesn’t inquire more about their plans, just flicks on his turn signal so they can get back to the Hagan house.

Five minutes into rifling through the dusty boxes shoved in one corner of the Hagan garage, Tommy gives it up. He turns to his girlfriend and apologetically says, “Well, I don’t have any spray paint, but I do have a thick ass permanent marker.”

Carol pouts. “I can’t just scribble Nancy Wheeler Is A Slut on a wall on Main Street in pen and have it be taken seriously.”

Steve’s actually okay with that. He doesn’t really want to graffiti a public building. On the offchance that they get caught, Dad will kick his ass to Prague and back. Harringtons don’t commit crimes. Plus it seems hypocritical calling her a slut after three threesomes and on a trajectory for many more. Nancy is, no doubt about it, but if Steve wouldn’t want to get called out for his taboo sex, why would she? Jonathan Byers Is A Creep, on the other hand, would fit scrawled in an alley just fine. He should be grieving his brother right now, not trying to bang other people’s girlfriends. If Steve had ever been graced with a sibling, he can’t fucking fathom having sex while their grave dirt was still freshly sprinkled.

“Sorry, babe. I really thought we had some. But we definitely do really have eggs. I’ll go snag them, and we can fuck up that bitch’s house, alright?”

“Byers house,” Steve interrupts.

“We can egg both their houses, Steve,” Carol explains, like he’s slow.

“With six eggs each? Lame. Let’s just fuck up Byers for now, and you can socially destroy Nancy on Monday, okay?”

“I’m not going to let you get softhearted, Stevie. She made you think you were in love. I’m going to devour her,” Carol snarls, before letting her tone lighten again. “But it can wait, if you wanna go after the stalker first.”

Geographically, the Byers house isn’t all that far from Steve’s. They’re both in neighborhoods that edge the woods. The difference is all in the upkeep. Every house on Grand Road is tiny, and dingy, with unkempt yards. 62 Grand Road is easily the worst, though. The yard isn’t the most hideous, that title belongs to 32 Grand Road with the gnome collection weathered by the elements, but there’s a fucking hole in the front wall. Who knows how long it’s been there, tarped up.

“Jesus, he’s so fuckin’ poor. Think he reuses condoms?” Tommy jokes.

“You think he’s had the opportunity to use them?” Carol scoffs.

“He used one with Nancy last night. She’d kill herself before she got pregnant and dropped out.”

“Jesus, man,” Steve groans, getting out of the beamer. He’s been getting by on thinking they didn’t make it around all the bases. It took four or five courting sessions before he got Nancy in bed, surely she wouldn’t have given it up to Byers faster than that.

“I wanna write Jonathan Byers Is A Perv on his bedroom wall. A daily reminder, each time he wakes up,” Tommy declares.

“He’s obviously home,” Steve points out. His run down car is in the driveway, and the lights are on in the front of the house.

“You think I can’t take Jonathan Byers? I’m offended, man.”

“Let’s walk around first. If we find an open window we can sneak in, we don’t have to bum rush him,” Carol suggests.

Tommy takes Carol at her word. He strides towards the left of the house, obviously going for the backyard. Steve follows closely behind. This is a risky play, but you don’t leave people on the field alone. Even if Jonathan calls the cops on them, they can run faster than Callahan or Hopper, no question. Mr Tanner and Dad might murder him slowly, but they won’t let anyone get in real trouble. Carol is a few beats behind, enough that Steve almost whirls around to ask what she’s doing. Soon enough though, he feels her on his flank, another pair of feet quietly scuffling through the dry dead winter grass. No way Byers can hear them over the depressing loser music he always listens to.

There are a surprising amount of windows to check. No house on Grand Road is a mansion. Shit, they’re not even bi-level. Steve would be surprised if there’s more than a single bathroom in there. That said, the Byers have a sunroom of sorts. More like a grimy little mud room. It sits at the back corner of the house, and the entire exterior of it is lined with windows. He and Carol take turns slapping their palms on the glass and dragging up, but nothing. Tommy takes their curve around the edge of the house further, to dart up the few stairs leading to the back door. It’s locked too, and it’s not like Steve knows how to turn a bobby pin into a skeleton key. That kind of criminal shit would be the wheelhouse of Tommy’s last lover, not him.

Finally, though, they come across a window open a few inches. It’s cracked just enough to let the breeze pull away the scents of the roach and cigarette butts mashed into the bottom of the ash tray on the ledge. If Will had asthma or something, it’s probably a natural reflex to open a window, even with him being dead. Steve doesn’t let the sympathy for the useless gesture stop him from yanking up the pane as high as he can, at a disadvantage from the house’s foundations being a few feet up. Tommy and Carol are on a mission, and he’s not going to get in their way.

“I’ll be right back,” Tommy whispers.

“Wait, you don’t want us going in with you?” That never occurred to Steve, not for a minute.

“Nah, I’ve got this one. Carol’s claimed Main Street, this is mine. You can look in when I’m done, but if we all go in it’ll get way noisier. I’m not scared of the jag-off, but it’ll be easier if it doesn’t even come up.”

Steve reluctantly gets it. He doesn’t like the idea of not being there if Jonathan attacks, but he can get through the window in seconds if he hears shouts, and until then, Tommy has a point. The house is so small it’s probably cluttered, and three bodies in a tiny room have a way higher chance of bumping into something.

Tommy breaks his own stealthy intentions in under a minute. There’s no way Steve’s the only one to hear Tommy’s barked out ‘What the fuck?’. Tommy’s tone is enough to have Steve hoisting himself up on the ledge and crawling in, Carol right behind him only a little less gracefully. The bedroom is normal, but it stops there. Tommy’s standing in the doorframe, obviously previously intent on closing the door as an added precaution before getting distracted, and Steve can’t blame him. Over his stocky shoulders are things that can’t help but be looked at.

The Byers house looks insane. Steve’s heard rumours about the whole family. Who hasn’t? Running down the list by age; alcoholic cheater, hysterical nag, pretentious creep, little pansy. And that’s just where they differ, never mind the consistent weird and poor and crazy. For the most part, the truth of it isn’t a concern of Steve’s. It’s not like Mrs Byers is going to bite a finger off at the cash register at Melvald’s. But this. This is very insane. There are about fifty million Christmas lights strung up, haphazardly criss crossing the ceiling as far as the eye can see. Lingering in the air is the sweet reek of gasoline. And in the middle of the carpet, only feet away, is a goddamn bear trap. Steve’s sixth sense is telling him to get the fuck out.

“Steve?” Nancy gasps.

“Nancy? Why-” Like he doesn’t know why, like he hasn’t known since the moment he scaled her house last night. Steve doesn’t see the lure in Jonathan, but apparently there’s something, because she’s here.

“It’s not what you-” Nancy’s voice hardens. “You need to leave.”

“We need to leave? Don’t you think you should be spreading your legs somewhere else?” Carol snipes.

“You all need to leave. Right now.”

“Oh yeah?” Because now that Steve’s here, he’s feeling a little like a brawl. Pervy Byers deserves a hit or two. Especially once Steve clocks the blood. Even though she’s a cheating bitch Steve doesn’t like the telltale bloody bandage on her hand.

“Whatcha do the house, whackjob?” Tommy snarls.

“Did he do that?” Steve demands from Nancy. She wasn’t bloody the last time he saw her, but it doesn’t take much time for a lot to happen.

“Listen, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. You need to get out of here,” Byers parrots Nancy. He’s got a hand on Carol’s shoulder, trying to move her, and if Tommy doesn’t murder Byers for it, Steve will.

“Get your fuckin’ hand-”

“Steve, get out!” Nancy shouts. And this time when Steve looks at her she’s holding up a gun.

“Holy fucking shit!” Tommy bellows.

“You have a gun?” Carol shrieks.

The owning of a gun is whatever. It’s Indiana, not California. She’s not the first or tenth person Steve’s met with parents with one. But her pointing it at him is fucking insane. Steve’s heard of spurned lovers, but she’s the one that cheated.

“You have five seconds to get out!” Nancy screams at him, ignoring everyone else around them. Like she doesn’t want to hurt him, specifically, but she will shoot. Or thinks she will. How many people would really follow through?

“Nancy,” he starts, trying to work her around to common sense. “Put the gun down.”

“I’m doing this for you. Four.”

“Nancy! No, no, Nancy,” Steve pleads, desperation growing. If she doesn’t calm down Tommy’s going to try to take her out, and the gun might go off. Anybody could get shot.

Except he’s not alone in screaming her name any more. Jonathan’s doing it too, and despite how crazy things have just gotten, it’s still hurtful that Nancy’s paying attention to him when Steve doing the same didn’t elicit a reaction.

Mostly the same. Jonathan starts with an attention seeking Nancy, but then takes a curve. “The lights!”

They’re somehow the perfect words to draw Nancy back into herself. She startles as Byers exclaims that ‘it’s here’, and grabs for what Steve’s just noticed is a fucking baseball bat with nails sticking out of it.

“What’s here?” Steve demands, newly alarmed. Across the living room Tommy’s got the same braced for anything demeanour.

The Christmas lights are flickering. They’ve got to be the lights Jonathan was talking about, but Steve doesn’t get why they’re panicking. Why they’re standing back to back, spinning, yelling about not seeing it as Byers clutches his bat like someone who was never on a team, and Nancy waves her gun. He yells back about someone telling them what the hell is going on, and Tommy and Carol are doing their own shouting, but all Nancy and Byers care about is scanning the room.

And then it makes sense. Nothing at all in the world makes sense, but the panic makes sense, because with a few loud crunches of drywall the ceiling rips open. A monster emerges, Nancy shooting the whole time, but none of the bullets manage to blast a limb off. Jonathan doesn’t get a single lick in, but he’s busy pushing Carol and Tommy down the hall to the safety of his bedroom, so Steve isn’t gonna fault him too hard. He makes his own leap over the menacing bear trap, and Nancy brings up the rear, gun up.

It doesn’t chase them. It somehow doesn’t burst through the slammed door like a fist through newspaper, and Steve can feel hysteria bubbling up with the adrenaline that has nowhere to go, because they’ve just stopped. The window is still open, for fuck sakes. Why are they standing here, when they could be diving out? Why aren’t they making a run for it?

“What the hell was that?” Steve screams at Nancy and Jonathan, the only people who seem to know what the fuck is going on.

“Shut up!” Comes from both of them, one a beat off the other.

The monster makes an ungodly noise in the hallway, a mechanical alien burbling, and then nothing. Steve shoots a look at Tommy, who looks back at him, and at Carol. In most situations they know who to put in charge. They run most of Hawkins High together, and everyone’s got a certain skill set. But is this a brawn thing, the best of them to take on the creature and shield the others on the way out of the house? Or is this a strategy thing, and the creature plays by some social tendencies they just have to figure out?

It’s taken out of their hands anyway, because hesitance gets you nowhere in life. Jonathan opens the door to check on the suspicious lack of monster noises, and Nancy follows straight behind him. Steve would like to get the fuck out of here and keep his boyfriend and best friend safe, and the window still seems like an option, but what if the creature hasn’t gone far? Nancy and Jonathan are the only two of them with weapons. Better to stay as close as possible to them, before he and Tommy and Carol can make a break for it.

They wind up back in the living room, where the ceiling is distinctly not caved in from an exploding outward monster. It’s still a rundown shithole room, but it has absolutely zero monster holes. That, for some reason, is what breaks him.

“This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy!” Steve can’t control the way his volume is growing with each repeat.

“It’s going to come back!” Nancy shouts in his face. The shock of it gets the panic to stop babbling out of his mouth. “So you need to leave. Right. Now.”

“No. You need to tell us what’s happening,” Carol counters. Because that’s who his best friend is, who his boyfriend’s girlfriend is, who she’s been since Hawkins Elementary. She’s the girl who can rearrange the world if she has enough gossip.

“It’s not gone, it’s gonna come back,” Jonathan repeats.

“Yeah, no, I got that,” Tommy says. “I’ll grab a butcher’s knife in a minute. But Stevie needing a hug and a pat on the head aside, what is it, and why is it here? You’re a brain, I’m sure you figured it out.”

It’s pure bravado, all of it. Steve’s known Tommy long enough to know when he’s scared, and that’s including things that are perfectly rational to be scared about, like tooth faced monsters. But nine times out of ten the problems Tommy swaggers up to decide it’s not worth it to have it out. Tommy doesn’t have to win a fight right now, he just has to not be the weakest link.

“You really want to know? Once you know you can’t unknow.”

The three of them exchange glances, but not much more. It was never a question. Carol hates not being in the loop. In every loop.

It’s a crazy story. Hawkins Lab tortured a psychic kid into ripping a gate into another dimension and a predator from there is looking for food. Steve doesn’t really know what the fuck to do with all of that yet. It seems pretty fucking evidently true. Unlike a dude in a mask in his backyard Steve isn’t gonna be able to scoff this off. It’s just kind of a fucking lot.

“And your brother is there?” Carol asks.

Jonathan nods without making eye contact. “Yeah.”

Carol nods. “Okay, so the wimpy scratches on your hand didn’t do it, clearly, so we trap and kill a bunny. When the spilled blood lures it out, Steve and Tommy distract it while the three of us go through the gate. If we don’t find him before the gate closes, the boys’ll sacrifice another bunny in six hours, and we’ll get out that time.”

Nancy crosses her arms. “Are you serious?”

“Duh. Byers isn’t the only one in the world with a sibling. I wouldn’t want Cyndi trapped with monsters. Even if she’d love the horror movie come to life experience.”

“We don’t need to go in. Mom and Hopper are finding him. We just need to kill it, so it can’t get them before they do,” Jonathan disputes.

“Okay. So like I said. We’ll-”

Carol cuts off before she can appoint Tommy and Steve to bunny trappers, which, he doesn’t want to, but he will, one dead animal’s nothing compared to how many people could die if they don’t get this done. But Steve never officially gets the role, because the Christmas lights flicker again, and now they all know what the fuck that means. Steve curses himself for not doing the smart thing and insisting on getting the crowbar from Tommy’s trunk before standing around chitchatting, but it’s too late now. The best he can do is pluck the hammer from where Byers abandoned it after making his nailbat, as Tommy grabs the lamp.

The bullets continue to not do a goddamn thing. The demogorgon screeches, but it doesn’t stop, doesn’t even seem to bleed. Instead it turns on Carol, and the only thing that stops her face from being chomped off is Tommy smashing the lamp on its tooth flaps. Steve wants to cheer Tommy on for such a beaut of a hit, but there’s no time or space for it. The world looks different, is coming at him in shadow and rainbow flashes as the alien dimension makes the lights flare.

Jonathan goes down next, ducking the demogorgon’s claws putting him off balance and unable to recover. Steve likes the claw side of a hammer, but he thinks he’ll like a nailbat better. He scrambles for the dropped weapon, the nails glinting green and yellow and pink in the strobing light, and grips it like a guy who could actually afford sports camp.

It’s the turning of the tide. Nancy’s fierce with the gun, but the nails slammed into the creature’s hide at the speed Steve’s clocking are actually hurting it. The fucker’s bleeding. Steve digs his feet down, and puts every ounce of strength he can into the swing, and it staggers. Another wallop and it moves again, and now that Tommy’s witnessing the winning strategy it doesn’t take him but a second to bolster Steve’s hits towards the bear trap with his own swings with the discarded claw hammer. Steve could have done it on his own, he’s sure, he’d figured it out, but it’s comforting to have Tommy’s hot breath on his neck as he drags him out of the way so Jonathan can throw his zippo. Tommy always has, and always will have his back.

After a minute of rancid burning, Jonathan uses a fire extinguisher he stole from somewhere to put out the flambéd demogorgon. The smoke and foam make it hard to see, not to mention that the lights have all turned off, but eventually everyone can see through watering eyes that it’s not there, a charcoal brick on the floor. There’s burnt flesh in the closed bear trap, but it as a whole is gone. It’s not a sight that fills Steve with confidence.

“We hurt it, but we probably didn’t kill it. Unless it went back to its dimension to die. We should reset the trap and make sure we’re here to knock it back in, if it comes back,” Steve suggests. After all, Nancy and Jonathan have both already made it clear it’s the kind of thing that comes back again and again until it’s dead.

“You really think it would be stupid enough to come back?” Carol sneers, contempt for the creature obvious on her face.

“Arrogant enough, maybe,” Tommy replies.

Nancy nods her agreement. “It came here twice, it survived twice. Three times, technically it came through when your Mom was talking to Will in the lights.”

“Plus, what if Mom and Hopper push through here, instead of the lab? If sneaking in was harder than they thought, here might be safer, especially if they’re carrying Will.”

“Can they do that?” Steve’ll have to rein in his instinct to swing ferociously at whatever rips through the wall if there’s a possibility it could be a mom and a kidnapped kid and a cop.

“There’s a weak spot here, that’s pretty obvious. You should really think about moving,” Carol points out to Jonathan.

“I’ll get right on that,” Jonathan snaps at Carol. Steve glances over at Tommy, who’s chortling his amused surprise. It’s more fire than they’d expect from the mouse.

“Look, I’ll stay, you can go,” Jonathan offers.

“Go? Where?” Nancy inquires, rolling her eyes. “I’m not just going to leave you here. Sure nothing might happen, but something might.”

“One of them could stay,” Jonathan begrudgingly suggests. While normally Steve wouldn’t appreciate Jonathan Byers dictating his time, he’s not wrong that Steve and Tommy and Carol are a force to be reckoned with, and right now they’re on his side, against sibling loss.

“Yeah. But I have the gun.”

The gun didn’t really do it, the sharp and blunt force trauma were a better combination. But before Steve can point that out diplomatically, or Tommy less so, Jonathan speaks out again. “You’re not worried about your brother?”

“No one knows they’re at the middle school. They’re safe.”

“Okay. While you two have this ‘who’s brother is more important’ thing out, the three of us need to talk,” Carol announces. “Scream if the monster comes back and you need your lives saved again, alright?”

Turning her back to their near identical scowls, Carol grabs Tommy’s wrist and neatly skirts past the sizzling meat to pull him into the bathroom. She doesn’t check that Steve’s coming, just trusts that he’ll follow, that Tommy will be tugging him along too.

Or maybe it’s not trust. Maybe it’s anger. There’s a look on her face, once the bathroom door closes. She looks like she’s about to go for the throat, like Steve’s some B-rate girl trying to make a move against her popularity. Tommy and Carol are alike in that way, turning existential crisises into soothing anger. Carol has to know forever now that carnivorous monsters from other dimensions exist, and Steve’s the one who put that into her life. He’ll take whatever blows she wants to land.

“So she didn’t cheat on you,” Carol prompts.

Not where he thought this was going to go, but it’s true. If he’d stopped to listen in on their conversation he would have caught that Nancy and Jonathan were reeling from their first breach into the other dimension, not getting to second base and beyond. It was assumptions that hurt him, not the truth, and that’s just disappointing from a social manoeuvring viewpoint.

Steve nods his head slowly. “Nope.”

“So are you gonna get her back?” Tommy asks, arms aggressively crossed over his chest.

“It’d be easy. She doesn’t even know she was dumped,” Carol adds.

Steve can hear the tension in his voice when he asks, “do you want me to?”

“The fuck are you asking us for? We don’t choose your girlfriends.”

Temporarily putting aside the fact that yes, Carol and Tommy have always had a significant voice in who he chooses to date, that’s still just stupid.

“Because I need to know if you want me!” He bursts. The shout is a mistake. He can only hope Nancy and Jonathan aren’t listening to him getting dramatic from across the small house, or mishear ‘if’ for ‘what’ and think he’s suffering a crisis of leadership. Steve’s usually better at controlling himself, has crafted himself specifically to have a publically controlled face, but his nerves are already frayed, and he’s about to lose something he doesn’t want to.

“Christ, man, I just want someone to want me,” he repeats, voice lower. It’s embarrassing enough to have him run a hand through his hair, despite it being an obvious sign Carol can pick up in a second flat. It’s not like she doesn’t already know he’s being an emotional fuckin lunatic. “If you two don’t, romantically or sexually or whatever, she does. I’ll date her. But if you do-“

“I literally told you I love you this morning. What else do you want from me?” Tommy snarls.

“Tell me you mean it enough that I should pick you!” Steve cries out, volume just barely acceptable.

“Fuck you. You know I mean it. I told you how hard it was to realise I love you like I love her. You don’t get to say I don’t, just because the priss wasn’t actually sucking Byers’ dick. Asshole.” Tommy finishes.

It’s Carol who speaks up next. “You’re my best friend, and you’re the gold standard when it comes to hotness, and you give my boyfriend boners. I don’t think I ever want to stop having sex with you. I dunno if that’s romantic enough for your flowery ass, but you walked into a hovel to kill a demon and I followed you. Not a lot of your so called girlfriends would do that.”

It’s pretty much exactly where Steve thought he was, in relation to Carol. She’s the co-ruler of their court, and she has the best looking orgasms he’s ever seen. Far before they came on to him, Steve imagined being best friends with Carol and Tommy forever. Being claimed by her is just as important as being loved by her, and Tommy’s restated his truth.

Mind made up, path chosen, Steve steps deeper into the bathroom, past the overflowing hamper. He grabs Carol by the hips and places her on the thick square edge of the mint green sink, careful to keep a grip until he’s certain it won’t collapse under her weight. A Hawkins High sink wouldn’t, but it’s impossible to gauge the quality of things in this house that looks like a shithole, but has endured monsters and being on fire.

Carol safely situated, Steve nudges her knees open so he can step in between them. They more than most know the manipulative power of words, and while Steve doesn’t often doubt his footing when it comes to Carol or Tommy, actions can speak just as loudly. Tangling his tongue against hers says a lot.

Tommy’s close when they break for air. Steve could have figured as much, considering the wrestling prompt this morning. As much as his best friend likes them both individually, he also wants the best view of them together. Fitting, considering Carol’s into that too. They really are perfect for each other as boyfriend and girlfriend. He’s incredibly fucking lucky that they want him to stay on their level.

Steve doesn’t turn away from the piercing crystal blue gaze of Carol evaluating his intentions, just stretches blindly back until he reaches gold, Tommy’s shirt, and pulls him closer. They’re shoulder to shoulder to shoulder, and Steve could use the new positioning to turn Carol on a little more by making out with her boyfriend -his boyfriend, now- but he doesn’t. Time for that in a moment. Actions are real, but words seal the deal, and Steve wants this explicitly stated.

“I’m not going to get her back. I’ve got what I want.”

“Hell yeah, you do,” Tommy agrees, amped up with his own victory. Tommy’s left hand immediately grabs his ass, while his right lands on the small of Carol’s back. Steve barely suppresses his aroused shudder. It feels great to be wanted.

There’s a several foot span of uninterrupted mint tile from the sink to the door. There’s not even art on the wall. It would be more than enough room to get Tommy in a T pose. What good post monster fighting stress relief to fall to his knees and lick up the left of Tommy’s cock while Carol works the right. What good commital to being in a relationship, wetly making out over and spitting down onto the head of his dick. What better proof that he can handle splitting his attention than sucking Tommy off while he fingers Carol to a floor flooding, knee wetting orgasm.

Unfortunately his fantasy comes to nothing. Steve’s barely made the transition to kissing Tommy in front of Carol’s rapturous eyes when Nancy’s voice bites through the closed door. “Are you done in there?”

“What do you think we’re doing?” Tommy replies. It’s a secret nyah nyah, ego swollen under being chosen even if Nancy will never know.

“Look I get that it’s important to have the emotional breakdown when it’s all over, so you don’t fall into shell shock. But it’s not over yet.”

Carol rips the door open. “It’s not?”

“We squeezed our wounds, got fresh blood, but the demogorgon didn’t come back. It’s either dead or it’s got bigger prey than us. But the lights casually lit up at the front door, then back out into the drive. I think Ms Byers and the Chief came in and left. There’s no reason to be here now. We’re going to leave now.”

“So you’re booting us,” Tommy says, the stoic to Carol reaching into her pocket for a stick of gum to gnaw. It’s not often that they’re the last to leave a hang out. It looks desperate. Every now and again that descriptor switches to exclusive afterparty, and it’s fine, and Steve and Carol both have an excellent barometer for when that’s coming into play. They don’t make a habit of embarrassing themselves. It’s a bit of a jolt to the system for both Nancy and Byers to be staring at them like they’re particularly exhausting guests.

“We need to get back to the middle school and check in on everyone,” Jonathan confirms.

“Yeah, you’re not getting there in your car. I stabbed your tire,” Carol says, snapping her gum.

“Jesus,” Jonathan groans. “I don’t have the money to be your enemy.”

“Good thing we don’t hate you anymore, then,” Carol rolls her eyes, ignoring any chastising that she hasn’t offered up herself.

“Look, I’ll buy you a new one. For now, let us give you a ride to the school.”

“Yeah, okay. Fine. Let’s go,” Jonathan says, voice aggravated but resigned, like he’s used to shuffling problematic priorities. A flat tire is, has to be, lower than your crush’s little brother stranded in a gymnasium with a science experiment gone wrong.

As they briskly walk to the Beamer Steve begins to rapidly assign potential seating arrangements. It’s something he learned at his mother’s knee, plotting dinners and parties towards the Harringtons best advantage. If he doesn’t think it out, who will?

There’s no good option. Tommy might feel jumpy with remembered associations if he sits in the front seat, and Steve would prefer not to rock that boat. There’s a difference between what would actually get them caught, and what merely feels risky, and there’s going to be a learning curve of when that risk feels sexy and when it just provokes anxiety. Not to mention Steve doesn’t really want to leave two girls alone with Byers. Just because Byers was legitimately monster hunting doesn’t mean his pictures didn’t get invasive. If Carol sits in front, one hundred percent chance Tommy asks Byers if he likes the view, like he did for all the pictures. Tommy doesn’t drop grudges quickly. If Nancy sits in the front they’ll be angry about the PDA Nancy will be expecting and they’ll probably take it out on Byers. If Jonathan sits in front, that means Nancy’s in with Carol and Tommy, who will be itching to let Nancy know she’s dumped, yesterday’s news. Steve can’t see a way out of this that isn’t hostile.

Unfortunately for him, Steve, leading the way, stumbles half a step in a rut on the hardpacked dirt driveway. By the time he steadies himself, Nancy is at the passenger door. Because of course they’d share the front, no question in her mind, because he’s her boyfriend. It’s how couples negotiate group scenes, carving out inches for themselves.

Before Steve has a chance to suggest anything -his best bet might be tossing Byers the keys like a servant so he can ride with his friends in the back- Carol and Tommy are walking past to stand at the back door. Nancy might not see it, but the claws have been extended. The only thing that would be worse is Tommy rounding the car to push Jonathan into the middle seat, cornering him like a rat in a trap.

Steve installs himself behind the wheel, seatbelt clicking in as everyone else gets themselves situated. He’s had a lot of experience chauffeuring complex groups with various relationships, ever since getting his licence. It goes without saying that he’s got one of the best cars at Hawkins High, who wouldn’t want to ride with him, if given the chance. And maybe the losers and nerds are calm and boring, but the people in his clique all have the need for the spotlight. He’s not exempt from it, in reality or in outsider perception. God only knows what they’re saying about girls fleeing his property behind his back, though he’s confident he and Carol and Tommy began that fix this afternoon. It means something, then, when Steve mentally declares this one of the most hostile cars he’s ever driven in. It’s just radiating off Carol and Tommy in waves.

Carol’s fallen on the sword, followed the proper etiquette of the smallest person takes the hump seat. That doesn’t stop Tommy from leaning around her to look at Jonathan. Steve can see it all in the rear view mirror, from the look he pins the loner with, to the smack of slapping Carol’s thigh where their legs share the cramped space. “Wow, this must be the closest you’ve ever gotten to a girl, huh.”

Jonathan, wisely, does not answer. Selective mutism doesn’t mean Tommy will stop, Tommy is nigh unstoppable once he starts, but it’s less of a provocation than telling him to shut up, or that he’s got a long distance girlfriend, in Canada.

“Don’t worry, pal. Like calls to like. Get one whiff and a river comes next. An arm around a shoulder to knuckle deep up a skirt. I’m sure by this time next month you’ll be swimming in pussy.”

“B-grade, of course,” Carol chimes in, staring daggers at Nancy. “But there are plenty of girls at Hawkins looking for a lesser guy they won’t lose to just anyone. One in the hand is worth two in the bush, you know.”

Yeah, they’re annoyed. And there’s truly nothing he can say to make it better, put Nancy in her place in their eyes, without outing them all in a declaration and ruining their lives.

“I don’t think settling is a good way to find someone,” Nancy says quietly.

“Couldn’t agree more. Not if you have self respect. But some people don’t,” Carol jabs.

Jonathan shifts as closely as he can to the door. It doesn’t do much to get his thigh away from Carol, but the attempt is made. “I don’t care about girlfriends. I just want to see my brother, and make sure everyone is safe.”

“Aww, what a noble boy,” Tommy croons. Steve does his best not to smirk.

It’s not the first time Steve’s driven down Wallace to Hawkins High late at night. Not even the fiftieth. It’s a convenient meeting spot. But it’s the first time he’s seen it in the horizon swarming with ambulances and police. It’s the first time he’s seen body bags. It doesn’t look like the kind of place you want to enter if you don’t want people to ask questions about why you’re there. Steve doesn’t want an officer with a gun too large to be from the HPD armoury asking Tommy or Carol questions.

Lucky for Jonathan and Nancy, there’s a better solution than slowing the car to a crawl and letting them jump out before putting the pedal to the metal. There’s no telling how many goverment agents are on the asphalt, controlling whatever the fuck drama obviously happened after Nancy and Jonathan bailed on babysitting. But ambulances mean the hospital. Even if no one is significantly hurt, at least one of them is bound to have to get checked out. They can meet up there.

Nancy doesn’t immediately understand the significance of the number of weapons in the parking lot. As Steve keeps on driving down Wallace, leaving the mess of undeclared agents in his rear view, she starts shouting. “What are you doing? Turn around, go back!”

“You said there were helicopters looking for your brother and his friends, right? I can guarantee you that firetruck is not manned by the HFD. It’s them, cleaning up tonight.”

The way no one objects to the conspiracy theory proves he’s right. It wasn’t something he doubted in any way. Of course the lab wants to throw as much of this under the rug as they can. Who doesn’t go into coverup mode, once they realise they’ve fucked up? Certainly none of his father’s associates have ever faced consequences for their actions.

“I’m already surveilled by association,” the highest authority Steve knows is Mr Tanner, but he’s got nothing on the Department of Energy, government spooks, “but it’s not happening to Tommy and Carol. The moment I enter that parking lot they’re screwed. So we’re meeting everyone at the hospital. We can make up an easy lie, someone got a sprain or something, and didn’t want to risk their sports career not getting it checked out.”

“That’s actually pretty smart,” Nancy says.

“Yeah. Imagine, someone not on the honour roll having a fucking brain,” Carol sneers.

Steve’s not sure what Carol and Tommy say at the triage desk, but it ends with them coming to sit in the bank of chairs nearest the front doors with a clipboard for paperwork. It’s a perfect cover. It gives them all a reason to be sitting there, concerned friends of someone who hurt himself, not people waiting for injured anti-government rebels to shuffle in. And yet, because it’s such a low priority injury, no one’s going to be concerned that they never turn the paperwork in and officially enter the system. The nurses are too underpaid and understaffed to really care, Steve is sure.

At first, Steve sits beside Tommy, Nancy on his other side. It’s a bit awkward but as long as he keeps his legs spread masculinely, knee bumping into Tommy’s, his lovers know the statement he’s making. Then comes in a man with crusty brown blood all over his shirt, thumb concealed in a mess of bright red tea towel. There’s nowhere else to sit, so Steve does the right thing and stands up. The guy looks at him gratitude, going as far as offering a thanks before he sits to try to write out his insurance info with his non-dominant hand.

It’s not that weird to be standing in the middle of the waiting room. Jonathan never even sat down, preferring to pace. It only becomes a problem when Nancy stands too, tucking herself against the groove of his arm.

“They’ll be here soon, right?”

“I mean, yeah? Probably. Gotta be, right?” Steve provides the best support he can, both verbal and physical. Carol looks like she wants to throttle him, and Steve gets it, he’ll accept her tongue lashing later, but for now Nancy’s had a really shitty few days. They don’t have to be dating for him to allow her a chest to rest against for a few minutes.

Thankfully it isn’t much longer before Mr and Mrs Wheeler are walking in, with Mike and two of Mike’s dweeby friends. No supergirl with them, another clue pointing to the entire Hawkins High parking lot being filled with undercover agents.

“You got the voicemail, oh good,” Mrs Wheeler says as she spots her daughter beside him. She’s practically vibrating with anxiety, desperate to baby her son while he wants no part of it. Middle school’s the wrong age for that shit, or at least Steve would guess. Affection was never exactly an issue for him, growing up.

“Yes,” Nancy lies. Mrs Wheeler seems to think she was out with friends, with them, probably, and got home to an empty house, Holly dumped at the neighbours while they went to rescue their son, only to hear an answering machine message probably left by the oh so nice authorities. It’s nothing Nancy’s going to dissuade, even if she’ll get in trouble for not following curfew. “Is everyone okay?”

“You’re both grounded for a month, but yes, Michael is okay. Thank god.”

Mr Wheeler shakes his head. “Damn shame, what those Ruskies can convince a true citizen to do.”

Steve doesn’t know exactly what he means, but based on Mike’s intense scowl it’s something stupid.

“Your mom and Will will be here soon, they said,” the black boy tells Jonathan. Louis, maybe? Steve’s only met him once, and twelve year olds don’t make the top of the cut when it comes to important people to network with.

“Thanks,” Jonathan says, a faint smile crossing his face before fading. Confirmation that Will’s alive and out of that hellish dimension doesn’t mean he’s not hurt. They all saw those teeth, after all.

“Come on. Mom’s a nurse, I spent half my formative years here. I know all the best benches to fall asleep on.”

“Dustin, we’re not going to fall asleep before we see Will. What are you, insane?” Mike snaps.

The toothless kid is undeterred by the classic Wheeler clan snappishness. “Well I still want to be comfortable. And I want to sit down. We’ve been on our feet for a million years, and I barely even ate any of that pudding. Come on, when am I ever wrong?”

Evidently that’s true, because everyone follows him. Louis first, then Mike, then the Wheelers thinking they’re being generous adults allowing the kids some drop of power, when they have no idea at all who these kids really are. Jonathan too, following the only people with information he doesn’t have about his family.

To be honest, they could leave now. Not their circus, not their monkeys. For the same reason that they came directly here instead of interacting in the parking lot, they could just leave now. Why get the people he loves deeper into this shit? But he and Tommy know Carol’s not leaving until she finds out about the little brother. On rare occasion she’s a bleeding heart who must be appeased. Besides, Steve is kind of interested in what’s going on too.

They’re halfway down their third hallway when Nancy begins holding his hand. Steve could play it a few different ways, depending on what priority was the strongest. Curl his fingers and give into the touch if he just wanted to keep the status quo in such a public space. Slip his hand away so casually she’d be left wondering if he did it on purpose if he wanted to get her mind on him. Wrench his hand away if he wanted to make her take the offense and question if there’s a problem.

What Steve wants is to neatly end this old thing, so he can fully go for his new situation. He’s already made his choice, everyone’s already committed. She just doesn’t know that yet. So Steve gently removes his hand from her light grasp, and shifts a step away.

“We need to talk.”

“Uh, okay.”

There aren’t exactly a ton of private spaces in a hospital. The best Steve’s got is pulling Nancy into a family/wheelchair washroom as everyone else keeps walking, the third door beyond the men’s and women’s. It’s a large tile room with a single toilet, grab bars on the walls and a change table by the sink. Not the most sanitary of places, but he’s seen worse. He’s seen Tommy and Carol have sex in worse, and this final conversation is going to be a fully clothes on affair.

“You know, up until an hour ago I thought you’d cheated on me,” he reveals.

“What?” Nancy gasps.

“I came over to visit, and I saw you curled up on your bed with Jonathan. A guy who you know beyond a shadow of a doubt likes you.”

“Steve, it wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Yeah, I figured it out. I know. But we need to break up.” Less than a week ago he was in a washroom with Nancy getting a few kisses in before class, while trying to get her to go parking. Now he’s ending it in one.

She seems stunned. “But Steve! We didn’t actually do anything.”

Yeah, he’s well aware now. Steve would probably want to be caressed if he crawled into a demon dimension and almost got caught there too. But her being justified in her skin hunger doesn’t mean Steve can stop this disengagement.

“Maybe you should.”

“What?” Nancy half shrieks.

How much of this can he afford to say? Nancy needs something, but Steve’s not stupid enough to out them all at the beginning of junior year. At grad, maybe. If they all have a perfect exit plan, and are willing to cut ties with anyone who cares in a negative way, which would be the majority of Hawkins. Now? Insanity.

“When I thought you’d cheated, I had a rebound date. It was good. Really good. They don’t deserve me walking away just because I misread the situation.” It’s a good summary, without stating any relevant gender tags or numbers involved.

“Okay, but I don’t deserve that either!”

Steve gets Nancy’s frustration. She really hasn’t done anything wrong. Even pointing a gun at him was justified, in the end. But he just can’t see this working. “So, are you open?”

“What?” Nancy repeats.

“They’re not monogamous. They’d be fine with me dating two people at once. Are you?”

Nancy crosses her arms over her chest. She’s in a dark plaid sweater now, but Steve’s struck with the mental image of her swinging her bat at him in that pretty red denim jacket. She’s one tough cookie. “Look. I might not want my parents’ marriage. Screw that. But I want someone who wants me, not some other girl.”

After the last day Steve’s had, he’s not sure why those are exclusive. Sure, most people think they are, but they aren’t. But if she insists they are, she’s not the girl for him.

“So, go with Jonathan, then.”

“I can’t believe you’re trying to matchmake me with a guy who you broke into his house to vandalize.”

“We didn’t!” They didn’t end up doing anything to the Byers house. Not a single problem in that multi disaster home is their fault.

“Carol punctured his tire. Honestly, Steve. Like nobody knows Tommy H is into graffiting mean shit.”

Mean true shit, if she’s being fair. Jonathan Byers is absolutely still a perv for taking bedroom window photos of them, even if he had reasons to be on the property. Just like Dennis Fullerton was a pussy, and Jess O was a skank.

“Just because I don’t like him much, doesn’t mean he can’t do anything for you. You went to him for help for a reason.” Maybe if Nancy had shown him the demogorgon photo as proof there was a guy without a face in his backyard, it’d all be different now. Steve could have been her knight in shining armour, and Jonathan could have never been involved. But in that moment she didn’t want a boyfriend to rescue her, she wanted something else.

“He’s Will’s brother!”

“And hey, he’s definitely not the boyfriend from your parents’ marriage.” There’s no way Mr Wheeler was ever anything like Jonathan.

“Sounds like you already made up our minds. I can’t date you, if you won’t date me.”

That’s not quite fair. He could, if she’d also acknowledge how crucial Tommy and Carol are to him. He’d figure out how to make dating them all work. Tommy and Carol would be a little pissed, but if he explained that he needed a visible girlfriend, not just a behind the scenes love, he knows they’d try to be okay with it. But if he has to pick sides, side picked.

“I’m sorry, Nancy. I wish it would have worked out.” Because if Friday had never happened, if Steve had never been made aware of what he could have, he thinks he would have been happy to be with Nancy for a long time.

“Whatever. It’s not what’s important right now anyway.” Nancy turns her back on him, and stalks out of the bathroom.

Steve stays back just a moment, to give himself a minute of mirror gazing reflection. As with any other girl he’s broken up with, there’s no real feeling of regret. He’s always wanted to find a girl who loved him as much as Carol and Tommy love each other, and it’s never deeply wounded him to dump any girl who doesn’t have that capacity. As kind and smart and apparently badass as Nancy Wheeler is, she’s ultimately just another girl who doesn’t love him enough to give him what he needs. It’s better to eject from that early, than stretch it out and wait for it to go sour.

Despite Dustin’s claims, the waiting room Steve finds everyone camped out in isn’t some swanky five star lounge. The padded chairs look like they provide minimal comfort, at best, and it’s still lit by harsh fluorescent lighting. It’s just a room with chairs laid out in an E, the door to the room being the bottom-most corner. There are a few seats further from the door occupied by strangers, but there’s still enough room for everyone involved in the evening’s events to sit.

Mr and Mrs Wheeler have apparently been deputized to watch over Mike’s friends, because they’re still the only adults in sight. Mrs Wheeler has the entire bottom leg of the E, the five chairs tucked against one of the two windowed walls. Her children sit on either side of her. Mr Wheeler sits across from her, the lone body in his row of five. Steve only has a rudimentary knowledge of the man, mostly Nancy’s complaints about indifference and disrespect while Steve carefully doesn’t point out the lack of physical punishment, but it’s kinda telling that none of the little kids are curled up with him, the curly haired one snuggled against the black one at the end of the row instead. In an emergency Steve can see himself accepting a hug from Mr Perkins or Mr Hagan. Not the same from these traumatized kids, evidently.

It’s nice that Dustin and Lawrence have been able to fall asleep. Mike looks like he still might spontaneously combust with whatever happened at the school after Nancy and Jonathan left. Steve wants to know what that is almost as much as nosy-ass Carol, but there’s just no way to talk about it with the Wheelers and additional strangers in the room. Nancy, too, is full of tension. And Jonathan still hasn’t sat down, choosing yet again to pace.

As for his friends, the back of the E is two groupings of three chairs, with a load bearing column separating them. Carol’s already twisted in her chair to rest her head on Tommy’s shoulder while her bent legs brace against the column. Steve easily slots into the free spot between Tommy and the door. In a fair world, he’d be able to lean against Tommy’s other shoulder, but that’s not where they live. He keeps his body to himself, apart from the wide spread of his legs that lets his foot knock against Tommy’s. He’s the span of a swinging door away from Nancy, but she’s not looking at him. Depending on how personally she takes things, she might not ever look at him again. But Tommy and Carol aren’t stupid. They can read into the fury of her body language, add that to them disappearing together, and come up with the move Steve made. He can tell they’re proud of him when Carol stretches her arm blindly out behind herself, and scritches his head.

And then they wait. A nurse approaches to take Jonathan to his brother. Perks of a small town lifestyle, being recognized as someone who should be somewhere else. Mike argues about not going with him, upset about his best friend status not being held on the same level as brotherhood, but the nurse is adamant about it being family only first. Mrs Wheeler’s attempts at comfort -mostly through justifying the nurse’s actions, and trying to hug him- are rejected so thoroughly that Mike stands up to sit across from his sleeping friends, out of her grasp. It’s hard to blame him, when according to Nancy her parents let the Lab techs out to murder the experiment girl into their house like it was nothing. That’s the kind of disappointment that scars.

The next shake up to the composition of the waiting room is when Chief Hopper comes in. He sits in the middle of Mike and Mr Wheeler, and Nancy immediately begins glaring at him like she wants to bore a hole in the middle of his head. Unfortunately for her, no amount of staring makes her telepathic, and it would look suspicious if she asked to speak to him in the hallway in front of her parents. Fifty/fifty Nancy flees her house in the middle of the night to bike over to Hopper’s trailer for answers, should she not get them sooner, but for now she has to sit and stew.

Finally Jonathan comes back to the waiting room to nod an invitation to Will’s friends. Mike kicks Dustin’s shoes, yelling at him to come on, he’s up, and both of them burst into alertness. Louis propels himself away from Dustin, and both of them turn on the teenage boy spigot of disgust for closeness. Only for a moment, before they’re sprinting out of the room behind Mike, but long enough to make Steve feel sad. Sadder than he has any right to be. Maybe most guys never find that one perfect guy they can be gay with, can be affectionate with, and be able to mindread without shame, but most guys don’t even think about it. These two are just two among thousands in Hawkins who don’t know what they’re missing. Steve can only think of himself as lucky to know better.

More sedately behind them, Nancy follows. Knowing the overprotective Wheelers it was either her or one of them, and Nancy’s just being a good sister, letting Mike and co keep their secrets away from Mom and Dad. Plus it’s probably the best opportunity she’s going to get to find out what happened to groups not hers, especially if Ms Byers is in the room as assumed.

Carol and Tommy take the mass exodus as an excuse to stand up, and of course Steve follows suite. Carol throws out a friendly explanation of going to buy some soda, and it’s quite possible they’ll actually do that, but mostly it’s strategy to talk away from judging ears about how long they’re going to stay before taking off, now that they know Will is okay. Because he’s definitely okay. The doctors wouldn’t let the kids visit first, and alone, no emotional prep, if it was bad. It’s unlikely they’ll be allowed to have their own visit with Will, not when Jonathan doesn’t trust them, and what would they say even if they did? Any and all ‘glad you didn’t get eaten’ sentiments can be passed on as easily by just sticking their head in the doorway.

“And you’re good now, Care?” Tommy asks.

“As long as I can see he’s not all gnarly and cut up, I think I’ll be able to fall asleep tonight. I’ll corner Wheeler or Byers for the details on Monday.”

Steve’s not sure it’s going to be so easy. The agents working for the lab will have all of Sunday to pressure everybody remotely related to the event into signing an NDA. That won’t be a choice, unless they want more bodies found in the quarry. It’ll more be a matter of Nancy and Jonathan’s ratio of scared to pissed off, whether they let themselves be nudged into spilling the deets.

“Let’s go take a look, then. I want to go, I want to sit in my underwear and watch the dumbest thing your sister rented this week.”

Steve appreciates Tommy’s go-getter attitude, as well as his common sense of realising their best bet is going to the Perkins. Mom and Dad won’t give two fucks if he’s not home, assuming he’s out networking, and the Hagans won’t mind Tommy’s absence. It’s Carol who’ll need comfortable surroundings to remember it wasn’t her sister who got kidnapped into another dimension and nearly eaten.

It takes a minute to find the right room, considering they don’t know the number and asking would be drawing attention to themselves. If there isn’t already surveillance on the room, Steve would like to avoid having a nurse remember any of their inquisitive faces. In the end they follow the sound of the exclaiming voices. All three of the little nerds could be sports announcers, if they learned about better things. Not that the story Dustin’s telling about Eleven making some enemy of theirs pee his pants isn’t interesting in itself. Steve can definitely think of a few people he’d love to deploy that kind of psychological warfare on.

Will looks okay from the doorframe. Pale, like he’s been out of the sun for a year, not less than a week. Tired, obviously, and IVs pumping into him like there’s no tomorrow. But fundamentally fine. He has all his limbs, arms visible as he holds Mike’s hand, and legs clear lumps under the blankets. He has both his eyes, and not a single long bandage covering a jagged open wound. He’s probably traumatized for life, but with a good set of friends deficiencies can be concealed and made up for. Steve can practically feel Carol’s nervous heartbeat slowing to normal.

They don’t get much of a look at him, though. Thirty seconds, at best. Then Nancy is quietly but swiftly leaving the room, pushing past them like it’s just another crowded hallway to wade through. Like they’re not bright enough to notice the tears welling in her eyes, or to know they’re because her brother got his best friend back, is clinging to him at this very moment, but not her.

“It’s fucked about Barb, man,” Tommy says bluntly, stopping Nancy in her tracks, trembling back towards them. “Like she wasn’t cool or anything, but she didn’t deserve to be eaten.”

“You sure we can’t rescue her, or whatever?” Carol offers.

“Eleven said gone. She’s gone,” Nancy breathes out, voice a scarf shredding open on a protruding nail.

“Yeah, that’s fucked,” Tommy repeats. “Want us to drive you home?”

Nancy begins to protest, “My brother, and my family-”

It’s a weak excuse Steve’s sure she doesn’t mean. “Your parents can take your brother home, when he’s ready. You’re obviously ready now.”

Finally Nancy turns to look at them. Steve can still see the monster hunter in her, under the surface, but most of what’s on top is an elementary level ruse of anger over deep sadness. “Must seem pathetic, asking an ex for a favour.”

“It’s not like I hate you, Nancy. It just wasn’t going to work. I can still give a crap, okay?”

It’s the kind of line he uses a lot. It’d be bad for his alluringly casual reputation to be known as a guy prone to mean, dramatic break ups. But he’s never not meant it. Steve only truly deeply loves two people, only ever been willing to do anything in the world for two people. But there’s never been a reason to hate an ex, unless Carol says they need shunning. Steve still smiles at the vast majority of them, opens doors and cheers for them in the gymnasium. He doesn’t see why he shouldn’t give Nancy a ride home to give her a chance to mourn without having to interact with anyone who will make it worse.

“I want to go home,” Nancy admits.

“Can do,” Steve confirms.

“You all go straight to the car. I’ll explain it to your parents, and meet you there,” Carol commands.

It’s a kind gesture, taking away Nancy having to interact with her useless parents. They can’t wheedle at her that it’ll only be a little longer, give Mike some time -oblivious to how each minute makes their daughter die inside a little more- if Carol’s presenting it as something already done.

“Thanks,” Nancy mutters, before hustling her way down the hall.

Steve isn’t sure if Nancy realises how kind Carol is being to someone who was briefly her worst enemy, but he knows. He’d smile at Carol for it, but he doesn’t want her to think too deeply and misread his gratitude for lingering feelings. It sure the hell wouldn’t do to let Carol think Steve wants anything else than exactly what he has. Nancy’s going to go home and sooner rather than later have to deal with the government swooping in with NDAs. The agents will swing by Steve’s too, and Mr Tanner will be paid a hundred dollars an hour to tell him to just sign it, but he’ll be a lower priority, and while all the major players are being interrogated long into the night, Steve is going to be balls deep in someone he loves on the living room floor. Or Carol or Tommy will be knuckle deep in him on the couch. Despite what Dad thinks, tries to teach him in a crumpled heap on the office floor again and again, Steve is sure he’s been making the best decision in any given situation recently. That Carol and Tommy think so too just proves he should stay with them, as long as they want him. Forever and a day is nothing when you’re with someone who understands you.