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It’s been 18 months. 18 Long months of moving away, finally going to the college of his dreams, and pointedly not talking to Steve Harrington about the most terrifying week of their lives.
It’s not like Jonathan had done it on purpose... the avoiding, that is. It was just all a little too much. A little too real. Steve almost died right in front of him. Jonathan had caught him and pulled him back from the brink. They’d exchanged quick conversation in the abyss, fleeting glances. A brush of the elbow. It wasn't nearly enough, not after what they’d been doing only a few hours before, but at the same time it was almost too much.
Jonathan can't lie to himself – he's never been particularly upfront about his emotions. He knows that now, because of Nancy.
So, they’d climbed out from the abyss, and Jonathan could hardly glance Steve’s way. Everything he’d been planning to say before that, back in the WSQK, suddenly didn't seem like enough. It was almost childish. Steve had almost died, and the last real memory Jonathan would have of him is Steve, on his knees with tears in his eyes, with Jonathan’s hand mussing his perfect hair. What did any of that even mean, in the end? How was that the basis for any real relationship?
A week before, Jonathan had been seething at the sight of the man, convinced he was yet another wrench thrown into the works of his steadily declining relationship. Who was Jonathan to beg Steve to be with him? Steve, who so clearly wanted. Jonathan had done nothing but take advantage since he found out. He wasn't even sure he liked Steve enough beyond the obvious... physical attraction. He’d have to be blind not to. But how is that fair?
Jonathan gets his dick wet twice at the end of the world, pulls a guy from his death, and suddenly he’d earned his place by that man’s side? A man who has clearly been wanting him for a while, at that? What a ridiculous fantasy.
But it seems he hadn't learned his lesson, quite yet. So, he’d said none of it to Steve, and carefully ignored the longing in those – unfairly beautiful – brown eyes whenever Jonathan wasn't careful enough about avoiding looking his way. He made sure they were never alone together, in the aftermath of it all. And, as soon as he was able, he fucked off to New York to pursue his dreams.
It’s been 18 months, and Will is graduating from High School, and Jonathan is once again back in Hawkins... and Steve is still here.
They all sit on the roof for a while after, just drinking and shooting the shit like they’ve done this before. They hadn’t. Not while they all still lived here. But that doesn't matter to any of them, Jonathan is enjoying the fantasy. The idea they could have had this, if they weren't all so disjointed and... well, if Jonathan wasn’t so intent on hating Steve for no reason.
He kind of gets it now. The jealousy. If he wasn't so convinced that Steve was a modern Adonis, maybe he wouldn’t have thought that Nancy would immediately leave him at the first opportunity. Maybe it said more about his own feelings towards Steve, at the time, that he’d thought it was an inevitability.
The conversation on the rooftop makes Jonathan think that no man on Earth would have swayed Nancy Wheeler... but he keeps that thought to himself.
The evening is pleasant. And then, slowly, it comes to an end.
“Well,” Nancy sighs, placing her empty beer bottle in the trash can that was kept up there for this exact purpose, “I’m staying with my parents while I’m here, and Mom still worries... after everything.” She smiles, like it’s sweet that they're all traumatized, “I’m a grown woman with a curfew.”
Robin snorts and picks up her own bottle form the floor, slinging an arm around Nancy, “Well, I finally have my license, thanks to someone insisting-”
“It’s an important skill, Robin-” Steve interjects, playfully.
“Well, it’s great for driving to my own dates, that's for sure.” Robin winks back, conspiratorially, then turns back to Nancy, “But also helpful for driving you home, if you want?”
Nancy raises an eyebrow in a move Jonathan recognizes as flirtatious, and eyes the beer bottle still in Robin’s hand “Are you good to drive, Rockin’ Robin?”
Robin laughs, “I’ve only had like half of one!” She defends, and Nancy laughs with her.
Jonathan looks to Steve, trying to shoot him a look, to see if he’s seeing what Jonathan’s seeing but-
Steve’s already looking at him, an emotion in his eyes that Jonathan has never seen before. It’s almost jarring, burning, and Jonathan nearly misses whatever conversation the two girls are still having, completely caught up in whatever Steve is trying to communicate before his head whips away like he’s been scorched.
Jonathan takes another swig from his bottle, and waves goodbye to Nancy and Robin, who make their way off the roof.
He hasn't been alone with Steve for 18 months.
18 long months of jacking off to the memory of Steve on his knees. Steve’s thighs twitching under his hand. Steve’s hair messed up from being pulled. Steve’s eyes, vacant and blissed out. Steve- Steve- Steve-
Jonathan can't do this.
“Welp!” He slaps his knees as he stands, “I oughta get go-”
“Jonathan, wait.” Steve’s voice is heavy and desperate in a way it hasn’t been the whole evening.
And damn it, Jonathan waits.
They both stand there, Jonathan with his back to Steve, ready to run. He’s scared that if he looks around, he’ll see it again. That horrible look in Steve’s eyes. The burning one that ignites the horrible guilt he’s felt since the day he decided to pretend nothing had happened between them.
“Jonathan,” Stev tries again, “will you please look at me? You haven’t looked at me since you got here.”
Jonathan winces and turns around. It doesn’t get any easier. It's completely unfair; Steve is just so beautiful. He’s thought it before and will think it a million times over; he knows it. Jonathan wants to capture this, Steve against a background of Indiana sunsets. Hair perfect, like always. Suit jacket framing him nicely. Even his moles... Jonathan wants to kiss every inch of him.
But he can’t. He promised himself he wouldn't be so selfish. He won’t encumber Steve with someone who didn’t even want him until it was too late.
“What are you talking about, Steve?” He says, instead of any of that. He tries to sound playfully exasperated – he fails. It comes out harsher than he intended. Resigned.
Before him, Steve’s eyebrows draw together, a flicker of pain.
“You know what I mean.” He says, hunching with his hands in his pockets, “I know you’re not stupid Jonathan... there's a lot we haven't said to each other. You’ve been avoiding me.”
Jonathan huffs, tries to deflect “I haven’t been avoiding you, Steve. I’ve just been...” He wants to say he’s been busy, but the lie doesn’t come out. He has been busy with college and film making, but he’d never been so busy that he couldn’t call. Or visit.
Steve catches the failed lie too, and sighs, running a hand through his hair. It messes it up, just a little, and Jonathan has to dig a nail into his palm to stop his thoughts from straying too far at the sight.
“Back then, you said we’d talk, after.” Steve begins, “I waited for you to say something. Maybe that was stupid of me, but I waited, Jonathan.” His voice gets strained, and Jonathan has never felt worse about his own stupid decisions.
“I know I said that, and I’m sorry.” He tries, folding his arms in on himself. Maybe if he makes himself small enough, Steve won’t be able to see what a fuck up he is, “But I just-” he takes in a breath, might as well finally come out with it. Theres no avoiding it anymore, the game is up, “I nearly watched you die in front of me and that- it scared me.”
“So you decided to stop looking at me altogether? Jonathan, how is that fair-”
“It isn’t fair! I know!” Jonathan has to get this right. Steve has to understand how not worth it Jonathan is. “It scared me, because you thanked me after. Like I was some kind of hero for not just letting you die.” He spits, “And you looked at me like I was special, too.” His eyes flit up to Steve.
He’s still doing it. His sad, deep, brown eyes are still looking at Jonathan like he means something.
“And you’re still doing it.” He says over a cracking voice. “But then I realized you’d been looking at me like that the whole time. Even when I was being a dick to you. When I jealous over Nancy and hated you.” Jonathan throws his arms out, rambling and ranting, now. “And how is that fair? I take advantage of you in an argument-”
“You didn’t take-” Steve tries to protest.
“I did, Steve!” Jonathan cries, incredulous, “We were in a dangerous situation, and you liked me, and I used you for sex to avoid my problems.”
Steve scoffs, tears in his eyes, and Jonathan put them there and God he just keeps getting worse.
“You don’t seriously expect me to believe that, Jon.” Steve grits out, “I suck your dick and suddenly you develop a guilt complex? Was it that fucking bad?”
“No!” Jonathan yells, desperate now. Why doesn’t Steve get it? Why can’t he understand what an asshole Jonathan is, was, has been. “It’s just that- I realized you deserve someone who liked you beyond that, and I- I was too late-”
“Too late!?” Steve squeaks out.
“Yes. Too late to realize-” Jonathan’s out of breath now, finally saying what he’d been meaning to for over a year, “- And now you have Kirsty-”
“Kristen.” The correction is distant and meaningless.
“Kristen! Whatever! And you don’t need me, because I was too late and too stupid to figure myself out, so you obviously moved on-”
He is cut off with a kiss. Steve’s mouth is warm, and firm against his. His hands hold Jonathan’s shoulders in place, grounding him. And he needs grounding, because what is happening right now. Jonathan’s eyes are still open, so he sees very clearly that Steve’s are not. Because he’s kissing him.
Jonathan’s body gets with the program before his brain does, closing his eyes and kissing back, lips moving against lips. Jonathan’s hands move to hold Steve’s arms against him, and he’s still not entirely sure any of this is real. And then Steve is pulling back.
Jonathan looks up at him, out of breath and bewildered. Steve looks back, eyes dark and determined.
“You’re not too late for anything.” He says, soft but sure. Then, he smiles, “What part of ‘I waited for you’ didn’t you get?”
“But,” Jonathan starts, out of breath, “Kristen-”
“Is one of many, many girlfriends I’ve had that don’t hold a candle to the real thing.” And Jonathan could swear the breath is punched out of him.
“The real thing?” He whispers, unsure.
Steve’s hands squeeze his shoulders; brown eyes meet hazel.
“Jonathan. I love you.” Steve says. “I love how stubborn you are, even when it hurts me. I love that you’re selfless, even when you don’t believe it.”
Jonathan is speechless; he can’t believe what he’s hearing right now. 18 months of not talking, and Jonathan had thought he’ thoroughly killed every chance he’d ever have with Steve.
Steve keeps going.
“I love it when you talk about pretentious movies I don't get. I love when you insist on calling them ‘films’ and not ‘movies’.” Steve is getting out of breath, hands still gripping Jonathan’s shoulders, but he’s still going, “I love your dumb, ugly cardigans, and I hate your taste in music, but I love how much you love it. I love-”
This kind, brave, strong man. He’d think it again and a million times more.
“Modern Adonis.” Jonathan hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It had come as more of a whisper. But now he’s spoken it, he has no desire to take it back.
“What?” Steve asks, clearly confused at being interrupted from his tirade of loving declarations.
“Adonis.” Jonathan says again, brave and real for once. He brings his hands to Steve’s face, carefully holding his jaw in an echo of a move he’d made over a year ago. Steve’s breath hitches, and Jonathan closes the gap and draws him in for another kiss.
This one is gentle. He wants Steve to feel it; how much Jonathan has wanted this. Wanted Steve to feel as loved as he makes other people feel. How loved he’s made Jonathan feel.
He draws back and looks Steve in the eye again. Steve’s expression is delicate and searching.
“Adonis,” Jonathan explains, “is part of Greek myth. He’s a hunter and-” Jonathan shakes his head, “That's not the important part.”
Steve laughs, and brings Jonathan closer, “What's the important part? Don’t all Greek stories have tragic endings? Does he die or something?” It’s said as a joke, but-
“Yeah. He dies.” Jonathan says, and Steve’s face falls, so Jonathan hurries to explain “But he was so loved, that a deal was struck. That he’d spend half the year in the Underworld, but the other half, he’d spend with his love.”
Steve looks a little confused, head tilted like a puppy dog. He’s clearly amused, though, despite not getting what Jonathan is saying at all.
Jonathan huffs, going red in the face, “I-I’m not telling it right, I-”
Steve laughs again, “It’s okay, I don’t know I’d be able to get mythology anyway.”
Cupping Steve’s face with both hands, Jonathan shakes his head, “No. I’m just telling it wrong. What I’m trying to say is... Adonis was renowned for being beautiful. Incredibly so.”
Steve’s grin dims slightly, so Jonathan hurries to add:
“But he was also so much more than that. He was loved. Incredibly loved. His absence for half the year coincided with winter. He’d leave just has the crops had to be harvested and would only come back once the snow had melted and the weather was warm and-” Jonathan hangs his head for a moment, then looks into Steve’s eyes, willing him to understand what he was trying to say.
“That's what these 18 months have felt like.” He says, finally. “New York has harsh winters, sure. But everything has felt so much colder because I was ignoring you, and pushing you away, when all I really wanted was to come and get you.”
Steve’s eyes are starting to tear up, and Jonathan can feel his own face getting hot with emotion, too.
“Adonis was-” No, no more analogies. “Steve. I love you. You are so beautiful, I’ve always thought so, especially in that awful week and those moments we shared. But you’re also more than that.”
He can feel the hands on his shoulders shaking slightly, and Jonathan knows he’s doing the right thing. Saying the right thing, finally. Finally.
“You’re funny, and kind, and protective,” Jonathan lists, openly sobbing now, but Steve is too, so he figures it doesn’t matter, “and I want you in my life. For more than just hometown visits once in a blue moon.”
“I’d like that.” Steve says, smiling and nodding like a dork.
“I love you.” Jonathan says, nothing else coming to mind than to affirm it.
Steve grins, real and beautiful, “I love you, too.”
1 Month Later
They’re crowded in the basement of Robin’s uncle’s house, and Jonathan is in his element. Light boxes and spotlights are positioned at various points around the room, sheets are laid on the floor to catch any stray fake blood, and at least three tripods are stationed facing the actress kneeled center-stage.
One of the tripods is empty, however, and Jonathan is kneeling low to the ground, trying to get the perfect hand-held shot for the final part of filming that will take place in this location.
“Okay...” He mumbles, cueing the actress, Mindy, to get ready, “Action.”
Mindy plays her part excellently. Just the right levels of crazed with bloodlust, while still maintaining an edge of intelligence that he needs in order to get across the correct message. It’s not about the consumption itself, but the calculated veneer that hides the consequences of over-consumption from the audience. Jonathan is incredibly lucky to have an actress as good as Mindy for this role.
He adjusts his position subtly, drawing the focus in as she tears maniacally into the fake ‘human’ meat, blood splattering down her chin as she sobs and heaves.
Jonathan ensures the shot lingers as she cries, the spotlight he’d set up capturing the tear streaking down her face as it blends with the red of the blood. He holds the shot... holds it... holds it... There.
“Aaaand cut!” He says, satisfied and smiling. Jonathan lowers the camera, and Mindy breaks character to smile at him.
From behind him, the rest of the room breaks into applause. He has a few people here to help him with filming. Nothing too over the top. Nancy and Robin had assisted with the organisation of the props. Steve helped set everything up, able to reach high enough to hand the sheets to correctly diffuse light.
“Hell yeah!” Steve cheers, moving to help Mindy up from the floor and passing her a towel, while Nancy and Robin start cleaning things up a bit.
“That was great!” Steve praises Mindy, leading her to the stairs to get cleaned up “Really... Uhm, moving?”
Jonathan basks in a job well-done. He fiddles with his camera, checking over the film to ensure it's all in place as it should be.
Mindy giggles, pausing at a few steps up out of the basement “Thanks, Steve.” she puts a hand on his arm, and looks down at him, “was my performance convincing?”
From the corner of his eye, he sees Nancy whip her head over to the interaction, but Jonathan is still engrossed in his work, collapsing one of the many tripods set around the room.
“Uhm, I think so?” He hears Steve respond, voice filtering to confusion, “I don’t know much about acting though... Looked real enough to me! Totally killer.” Jonathan smiles to himself, hearing Steve laugh at his own goofy pun.
Mindy giggles again, just as Jonathan looks over to also congratulate her on the performance. She places a hand on Steve’s chest, fake blood still coating it. Jonathan sees Steve tense, clearly unhappy with the potential stain.
“Well,” she intones, flirtatiously, “I promise not to eat you up.” She winks and trots the rest of the way up the stairs, leaving Steve choking on air at the bottom, completely taken off guard.
Jonathan is disgusted.
Something must show on his face, because Nancy is already laughing at him when she looks over, “Oh, careful Steve.” She doesn't say anything else, aware that Mindy is still nearby, but the implication is there enough that Steve spins on his heel to face Jonathan, and Robin bursts out with laughter of her own.
“Jon, I-” Steve is attempting to say something, stuttering something out, but Jonathan doesn’t care.
He turns to continue taking down the cameras and tripods, “I won’t be working with her again.” Is all he says.
Robin cackles in glee, hanging off Steve’s shoulder and basking in his embarrassment. Nancy, ever the diligent worker, continues to help clean up, but not without a subtle smirk of her own.
One they're all packed up, Jonathan sends Mindy off to her hotel without much preamble. He can tell she’s confused about his sudden change in demeanor, but he doesn’t care. He knows it’s not exactly her fault; it’s not like they can tell people, but Jonathan is a little sick of women throwing themselves at his boyfriend.
He’s always had a bit of a jealous streak.
Jonathan stalks back into the house, a man on a mission.
Nancy and Robin had planned to go out earlier, Robin promising to show Nancy a bar she knows in Philly. He finds them in the kitchen, gathering their last-minute belongings to head out the door.
“Have you seen Steve?” He asks, trying for casual.
Robin snorts, “Wow,” she says, “Can’t even wait for us to get out the door, lover boy?” her and Nancy both giggle.
“N-no, that's not-”
“Oh, Jonny, it’s okay,” she continues to tease, leaning into him dramatically, “I know how you hate to be apart from your – what did you call him? - your Adonis-”
“Okay!” He shouts, feeling his face heat up to a ridiculous temperature, “I get it! I can’t believe he told you all that.”
“Of course he did,” She rebuts, “best friend privilege knows no secrets!”
Jonathan looks at the ceiling and prays for the roof to fall on him. “I’d like it to have some secrets.”
Nancy grabs Robin’s arm, gently extracting her from Jonathan, “Well, I’d certainly like to not hear whatever argument they're about to have, so let’s go.”
“Oh, I don’t think they’ll be arguing-”
“Robin,” Nancy chides, but she’s smiling, so Jonathan doesn't believe she really means it, “let's leave them to it.” she turns to Jonathan, “He’s in your bedroom.” She informs him.
“Thank you.” He says, exasperated.
Jonathan turns to head that way, just in time to hear Nancy add on.
“Go quick and get out of the winter chill!”
He puts his middle finger up behind him as they both laugh. It’s the middle of summer.
He finds Steve exactly where Nancy said he would be, pacing lines back and forth in their shared bedroom.
When Jonathan opens the door, Steve turns to face him, eyed wide.
“Jon! I’m sorry about earlier,” He blabbers out as Jonathan approaches him, “I should have said something to her. I didn’t mean-”
“I know.” Jonathan says, because he does. “Shut up.” He grabs Steve by the neckline of his sweater and brings him into a searing kiss, which is returned instantly with a startled gasp from Steve.
Jonathan breaks the kiss and looks down at the sweater Steve is wearing. The handprint of fake blood is still there, left from Mindy’s carelessness. Jonathan frowns and pushes Steve towards the bed. The backs of Steve’s knees hit the bed, and he falls onto his back, looking up at Jonathan with wide and hungry eyes.
Jonathan’s about to straddle Steve when he spots his photography camera out of the corner of his eye, perched innocently on the dresser. He grabs it, and goes back to Steve, climbing into his lap and settling over his slowly stiffening hard on.
Steve gulps as he moves his hands to rest on Jonathan’s thighs but otherwise makes no move to change their positions. Jonathan smiles, not a kind smile, and watches with delight as Steve’s face flushes.
Jonathan slowly begins rocking his hips, and Steve throws his head back with a hiss and a whine. Slowly bringing the viewfinder up to his eyes, Jonathan brings the sight before him into focus.
“Steve, eyes on me.” Steve’s eyes meet the lens of a camera, and Jonathan snaps a photo of his expression. He won’t be able to see it until he gets the film developed, but Jonathan already knows it’ll be a perfect result.
Steve gasps, “Jonathan!” He whines, hips speeding up from his position under the shorter man, his hands pressuring Jonathan’s hips to move in time.
The red handprint on Steve’s sweater is mocking Jonathan. So, leaning forward, he places a heavy hand over top of the stain. Jonathan is pleased to note that his hand is a lot bigger than Mindy’s and completely covers the red mark. It shoots a self-satisfied jolt of pleasure down his spine, lending to the extra friction the move created between them.
They're both panting now, moving in synch. Jonathan wants to capture the moment.
He draws his camera up to his eyes again, and thanks the innovation of photography for creating professional cameras small enough to be held in only one hand. His finger hovers over the shutter button.
“Steve.” He calls, more of a moan than an instruction, but Steve looks at him all the same. Panting and flushed, lips still puffy from their shared kiss a moment ago.
With his hand still over the print, Jonathan snaps another photo.
“Put,” Steve huffs, “put the camera down and fuck me.”
Jonathan smirks and takes another picture, this one showing Steve impatient and desperate. Steve whines in complaint.
“How about I keep the camera and fuck you anyway?” Jonathan teases.
“Jon!” Steve argues, tugging now at his belt and palming him over his jeans. “Please.”
God, he loves it when Steve begs. He definitely has some kind of complex.
“Okay, okay.” He concedes as he puts the camera down on the bed beside him, drawing back from his lap and dipping down to kiss Steve once more. He trails a few kisses down his neck, stopping at each mole as he slowly removes Steve’s pants, freeing his length from his briefs. Steve gasps in pleasure as Jonathan wraps his hands around Steve, pumping him a few times before he removes his own clothes.
Steve sits up slightly and starts hooking his hands into the hem of his sweater, before Jonathan stops him quickly with a hand over Steve's.
“Sweater stays on.” Jonathan commands. He’s not sure what's wrong with him to want this, but the imagery won’t leave his head. Fucking his boyfriend while staring at the hands of a girl who doesn’t know she can’t have him. Not like Jonathan has him. He feels like a pervert for it, but it has Steve nodding his head enthusiastically and laying back down with a smile, so it can't be that bad.
“I love it when you get protective.” He sighs out and Jonathan has to laugh.
“I wouldn’t exactly call it protective.” He muses, slowly trailing his hands up Steve’s thighs, stopping at the waist and holding him there.
Steve tilts his head down to smirk at him, “possessive, then.” He corrects.
Jonathan makes eye contact and nods, serious as ever, “very.” He confirms.
He quickly leans over to the side table and grabs a small bottle of lube from the drawer, as well as a condom. They don’t technically need it, since they aren't seeing other people, and can’t get pregnant. But neither of them like cleaning up the mess that going without one leaves behind. It's much easier to just tie one off and trash it than any other method.
Jonathan positions himself back between Steve’s legs and gently lifts them over his shoulders, kissing the inside of his knee as he does so, right over one of his many (many) moles. It causes Steve to laugh at the sweetness of it, like he always does.
He smiles again, pouring some lube over his fingers and warming it up between them. He dips his hand down, traces Steve’s balls slightly as he goes, which causes the man to gasp, and begins circling the tight ring of muscle that greets him.
One thing Jonathan has always acknowledged about Steve, is his outspoken confidence. Back in high school, he had loathed it and silently envied this quality. Steve always spoke his mind, always was the loudest laugh in the corridor. Could always make himself heard. Now? Jonathan loves it. Loves how Steve always asks for what he wants, out of and in bed. Always stands up for himself and others. Always tells Jonathan he loves him when he can.
It’s also Jonathan’s favorite thing in bed because Steve is loud.
As soon as the first knuckle of Jonathan’s finger is in him, Steve is throwing his head back with a moan that makes him glad Nancy and Robin have left. He thrusts it gently in and out, and with each time he gets a little deeper in, Steve makes a sound to accompany the feeling.
The first time they’d had sex outside of a life-or-death scenario, Jonathan had been in shock at how reactive the other man was. Steve admitted after, somewhat embarrassed, that part of the reason he always brought girls back to his own place was because his parents were never home, and he had no neighbors. Jonathan was somewhat shocked, generally, at how Steve continued to talk about his past sexual history... the reality was completely different than what the rumors from high school had suggested.
“Yeah,” Steve had laughed, self-conscious, “Most girls only said I was good in bed because I would just eat them out. It was the only thing I trusted myself to do quietly... Turns out girls kind of think it’s weird when you moan more than they do.”
Jonathan privately thought those girls were insane. He’s three fingers inside Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington and could easily come from just the sounds he’s making beneath him. It seems he’s not even moaning anymore, really, simply panting so loud that his vocal cords have no choice but to accommodate the air movement.
Jonathan is snapped from his thoughts by Steve whining and tightening his thighs around him.
“Please, Jon.” Steve pleads, “I’m ready- I'm ready, stop teasing.”
And, oh. He’d gotten so lost in thought, thinking about all the girls before him that didn't appreciate Steve properly, that he’d failed to actually appreciate the man right in front of him.
He’s completely flushed now, sweat beading on his hairline from arousal and likely from also being made to keep wearing his sweater in the middle of summer. It was cold in the basement, but decidedly not in the bedroom. His cock is leaking heavily onto his stomach, pre-come spilling deliciously onto hair that Jonathan knows trails up into a full chest of the stuff.
One thing that Jonathan did agree with those girls about, was the size of Steve’s dick. Jonathan’s hands were bigger than most girls’, and even he had trouble wrapping around it fully. It made hand jobs difficult... He didn’t-
“Think it’ll fit?” Steve had joked, the first time they agreed to go all the way. Jonathan had spluttered, and Steve laughed, “It’s okay,” he said “Uhm... I’d actually like it if you were the one to...” he’d never finished his thought, but Jonathan knew what he meant and that was what they’d done ever since.
(Privately, Jonathan would like to at least try, but that was a mission for another day.)
Normally, he would have spent the time to lick the pre-come from Steve’s stomach, but Steve looks close to coming undone. Jonathan honestly wasn’t far behind him, dick aching for friction from the buildup. He barely even processes ripping the condom from its packet and rolling it on, too impatient for what comes next.
He leans down and lines himself up with Steve’s waiting hole, lube dripping out in invite. As he slowly pushes in, he swallows Steve’s sounds with a kiss, biting his lip and deepening it further to slide their tongues together. Once he’s in fully, he leans back and brings his lube-coated fingers to Steve’s lips.
“Clean these off for me?” He asks in a murmur. Steve nods absently, so Jonathan slides his fingers into Steve’s mouth and begins thrusting in earnest.
Steve’s hands fly backwards to grip at the sheets behind him, ankles tightening in their hold behind Jonathan’s neck. Jonathan himself feels electric, sliding in and out of Steve, who rocks back into his hips, cock jumping with each slap of skin against skin.
Amongst it all, he also feels the slide of Steve’s tongue against his fingers, lips sucking and making obscene slurping sounds against his knuckles. With his free hand, Jonathan fumbles for the previously discarded camera, determined to capture this moment.
With his mouth full like this, eyebrows drawn up in pleasure and hair fanned out on the sheets, Steve looks like a dream. The summer sun pouring in from the curtains only serves to amplify his beauty, glowing reverent against tanned skin and turning his usual deep brown hair golden.
Through panting breathes and trying not to break his rhythm where he thrusts into Steve, Jonathan brings the viewfinder up to his eye once again. In his own bliss, he can’t get the damn thing to focus.
“C’mon,” he hisses, leaning forward slightly. Maybe the lighting is messing it up? A sun beam is kind of crossing over the lens, if he can just get the right angle, “c’mon...” he says again leaning further forward, accidentally shoving his fingers deeper into Steve’s mouth, who lets out a long – desperate – cry.
Jonathan finally gets the camera to focus; the light is hitting Steve’s face perfectly, glancing off of spit and tears to create an effect akin to glistening gold. Jonathan snaps his hips, grunting in satisfaction as he tilts his head to the side to get the perfect view.
“Oh, that's good.” He breathes, and leans, “So good,” and leans-
He must hit a certain angle because suddenly Steve is throwing his head back completely, shouting out even around his fingers and spilling onto his stomach. Jonathan gasps, both from the feeling of Steve’s walls clenching around him, and the incredible sight Steve’s orgasm creates. Before he can really think about it, Jonathan’s finger presses down hard on the shutter as his own orgasm hits him. He drops the camera to the side and leans forward over Steve, bringing him into a deep kiss that Steve readily returns.
They both ride out the waves of pleasure, gently rocking into one another, before it becomes too much, and Jonathan has to pull out.
As soon as Jonathan is lying next to Steve, sweaty and spent, the other man is ripping his ruined sweater from himself and sighing. He uses it to clean up the come from his stomach and throws it somewhere into the room.
Steve lies back down next to Jonathan and smiles, “I’m totally gonna have to throw that sweater away now.” he says, but he doesn’t sound too torn up about it.
Jonathan only grunts in confirmation that he’d head him, and throws his arm around Steve, pulling him closer.
They lie there for a while, dozing slightly, wrapped in each other’s arms. No one is due back to the house for a good while, so they have no reason to get up or do anything else.
After a while, Steve turns to face Jonathan in bed, eyes crinkled with a tender smile.
“Hey.” He says, getting Jonathan’s attention.
“Hey, yourself.” He responds.
“I’ve been thinking.”
“A dangerous past time.”
Steve swats his arm and laughs, “I’m serious.”
Leaning up on his elbow and looking down at Steve, Jonathan sees it's true. Stev is looking up at him with a quiet determination in his eyes that he’s seen now a few times before.
“Okay, what have you been thinking about?”
He sees Steve get nervous, but still resolved, “I...” he swallows, “I want to move out to New York.” Brown eyes meet hazel, “To be with you.” he finishes.
Jonathan can't breathe.
Steve must take his hesitation for disagreement, because he sits up and hurries to add “Like, not like with you, with you!” He shakes his head, “Well, no like I’d still be with you, but I meant like, we don’t have to live together if you don’t want, I just meant lik-”
Jonathan puts a hand over his mouth, “Steve, stop talking.”
Steve does.
“I’d very much like for you to come to New York with me.” He says, soft and vulnerable, “I’d even like it if you lived with me, if that's what you want.” And Steve is nodding, hair flopping about over his eyes, hand still covering his mouth.
Jonathan keeps his hand there, just for a moment. He needs to be sure that Steve understands what this means for them- for him.
“I just thought... you were happy in Hawkins?” He questions, gently.
Steve carefully removes Jonathan’s hand from his mouth, and looks him in the eyes, “Jon. I’ve thought a lot about this over the past month, and-” he ducks his head and smiles, “I do love Hawkins, it’s true. But everything I loved about Hawkins is already moving away.”
Jonathan’s breath hitches at the implication.
Steve laughs, “I mean, even Dustin isn’t in Hawkins anymore... or Robin. Or you.” He finishes looking at Jonathan with an amount of love he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced before.
“But... your job?” He asks.
“You think Hawkins is the only school that needs a baseball coach and a shitty Sex-Ed teacher?” Steve quips, wiggling his eyebrows, causing Jonathan to laugh, too.
They lean up against the headboard, and Jonathan really soaks in what Steve is suggesting.
“You’d really do that?” He whispers, “You’d uproot your whole life?”
Steve leans his head on Jonathan’s shoulder, “You, Nance, Robin and Dustin are my whole life.” He confirms so casually it leaves Jonathan floundering.
How did he get so lucky?
“Okay.” He whispers, finally, “We’ll have to talk about it properly, and there's so much preparation for moving but-” He cuts himself off with a smile and wraps his arm around Steve, carding his fingers through his hair, “It sounds amazing.”
They sit like that for a while longer, watching the sun dip down through the curtains, washing the room blue rather than gold.
Suddenly, Steve sits bolt upright in bed and whips his head around to Jonathan. It’s so jarring that Jonathan finds himself flinching back from the movement.
Steve’s face is flushed completely red, blotchy and reaching down up to his ears in a way that Jonathan has never seen before. He raises an eyebrow at the sight.
“What? What is it?” He asks, stunned at the emotional whiplash.
“Jonathan.” Steve hisses out in a voice more strained and strangled than he thinks Steve has ever sounded in his life.
“What?” Jonathan laughs out, watching as the redness progresses down his neck.
Steve lunges then to the end of the bed, reaching for something he’d spotted and-
“Oh.” Jonathan says, blank.
Steve holds up the camera for Jonathan to see, waving it in his face as though it's incriminating evidence of some horrific crime.
“Jonathan.” He hisses again, somehow higher pitched.
Jonathan can’t help but laugh and tries to reach out for the camera again, playfully tussling with Steve as the taller man tries to keep it out of reach.
“I can’t believe you!” He cries in between Jonathan’s lunges, “No one can ever see these!” Jonathan tries to snatch it again, drawing Steve closer to the edge of the bed, “I’m serious do not get these developed!” Jonathan is still laughing, making moves to take it back, when Steve falls dramatically from the side of the bed.
He lets out an “Oof” when he lands but keeps his hand firmly up in the air to prevent the camera from breaking. Jonathan appreciates how careful Steve is now, with his things. He also appreciates it because it gives him the perfect opportunity to snatch it from Steve’s grasp.
He laughs with glee as Steve scrambles back onto the bed to make another poor attempt at getting the camera. When that proves unsuccessful, Steve turns to pouting, winding his arms around Jonathan's shoulders and giving his best impression of a kicked puppy.
“Jon, please,” He begs, “it’s too embarrassing. I don’t care about your pretentious ‘catching people in the moment’ bullshit. Do not develop those.”
Jonathan looks into Steve’s eyes and sees genuine worry, there. He decides he’s had his fun, and brings the camera between them. Carefully, Steve watches as he flips open the compartment that holds the film and removes it.
“How about this.” Jonathan says, meeting Steve’s eyes and smiling, “I won’t get them developed.” Steve smiles, relieved, “but I want you to look after the film, for me.”
Steve takes the offered film, but raises an eyebrow in question, “Uhm, why?”
Jonathan places the camera down and cups Steve’s jaw in his hands, “Because,” he explains, “I don't need to get those developed to remember how beautiful you are.” Steve snorts at his words, but he continues, “But I want you to keep it, in case you change your mind, and you want to see yourself how I see you.”
Steve laughs and shakes his head, but doesn't dislodge Jonathan’s hands.
“Yeah, there’s no chance I’m ever gonna wanna see these.”
Jonathan places a chaste kiss on his lips.
“Eh, you never know.” He jokes.
“I know.” Steve responds. Pointedly, he does not put down the film.
Jonathan sees this, and smiles.
“You never know.” He repeats. “Hell, you might even want them hung up on the walls of our New York apartment.”
Steve gapes and squawks in a move that reminds Jonathan distinctly of something Robin would do, “Absolutely not! Never! Nope!” he cries... all while not letting go of the film.
Jonathan throws his head back and laughs, all while Steve keeps protesting.
“I’m serious! I’m not going to do that!”
Jonathan keeps laughing.
“Jonathan!”