Work Text:
The power had been out all day.
Eddie sat huddled on his couch wrapped in every blanket he owned—which, admittedly, wasn’t that many. His studio apartment had never been particularly warm even with the heat running, but now, in the middle of what the news had been calling 'the storm of the century'—way to rip off a Stephen King novel, AccuWeather—it was quickly becoming a goddamn icebox.
Forty inches of snow in forty-eight hours. That’s what the so-called professionals had predicted, and for once, the weatherman hadn’t been full of shit.
Eddie had watched through his window as the snow piled higher and higher, the wind whipping it into drifts that looked like frozen ocean waves. The city had ground to a complete halt. No cars on the roads—well, no moving cars anyway. The streetlights cast an eerie orange glow over the white landscape—it was barely past seven in the evening, but the storm made it feel like midnight.
His phone battery was at sixty-three percent. He’d been rationing it, keeping it on low power mode, using it only to check for updates about when the power might come back on. So far—no fucking clue.
Could be hours.
Could be days.
He should probably be more worried. Chrissy certainly was—she'd texted him approximately eight thousand times before her own phone had died, making him promise he'd stay inside, stay warm, and "for the love of God, Eddie, do NOT do anything stupid."
Too late for that, probably. He'd already eaten half a box of stale crackers for dinner and convinced himself that yes, it was totally acceptable to lick hot chocolate mix straight out of the packet.
Desperate times, and all that.
Speaking of desperation, he was in dire need of entertainment. Battery be damned, he succumbed to his lesser instincts and began scrolling through Reddit.
The local Indianapolis subreddit had blown up. Everyone was posting pictures of the snow, complaining about the power outages, sharing tips for staying warm, their favorite cocktail recipes. Some people were treating it like an adventure. Others were clearly panicking.
He refreshed the feed.
A new post popped up, only fifteen minutes old, with the flair—urgent—in red.
u/Stobinsymbioticbrain: URGENT - Friend stuck in car, running out of gas, phone dying
Eddie sat up a little straighter, the blankets falling off one shoulder.
My idiot of a best friend decided to try and drive in this mess to get to his kids (not his actual kids mind you and not children, they are 20 years old) and got himself stuck near the corner of Alabama and E Michigan. He's running out of gas and his cell phone is almost dead. We tried our best to reach out to fire department, police and tow companies, but didn't get any help yet.
Please🙏 someone help my dingus.
Any help/suggestion would be appreciated.
Eddie read it twice. Alabama and East Michigan. That was... fuck, that was so close? Less than half a mile from his apartment. He could practically see the intersection from his window if it weren't for all the snow.
And like, two buildings.
The comments were already rolling in.
u/INVolunteerFD57: Volunteer firefighter here. Our trucks can not move in this snow. We are getting stuck. We can not get to ANYONE at the moment. I hate to say this but he needs to be prepared. If you can contact him tell him help is probably not coming.
Well, shit.
u/MrplowOrNothing: Imagine being dumb enough to drive in this. Darwin award nominee right here.
Mr plow wasn’t exactly wrong but, damn. Not helpful, dude.
Eddie sighed and looked at his phone.
Then looked at the window, where the snow was still coming down in sheets.
Looked back at his phone.
Chrissy was going to kill him.
But the guy was less than half a mile away. Probably freezing. Definitely scared. And Eddie wasn't doing anything except slowly turning into a popsicle on his own couch anyway.
His thumbs moved before his brain could catch up.
u/Eddiethebanished: I live close by. I don't have any gas but I can bring him some more warm clothes, maybe some food and water. If he's up for it and it's not too far, I can walk him where he needs to go.
He hit post, and his phone buzzed almost instantly.
u/Stobinsymbioticbrain: OH MY GOD REALLY??? Yes please, anything helps! His name is Steve, he's in a burgundy BMW. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!!!!
Eddie stared at the screen.
Okay.
He was really doing this.
He stood up, letting the blankets fall away, and immediately regretted it as the cold air hit him.
Right.
Clothes. Lots of clothes.
Wayne's snow pants were in the closet—the ones Eddie had insisted he'd never need because "I'm not going to be trudging through the tundra, I live in the city."
Ha. Joke's on him.
He pulled them on over his jeans, then added two pairs of socks.
An old backpack came next, the one he usually brought to work at the shop, still smelling faintly of ink and antiseptic Blindly, he dumped out the usual contents and started shoving things in—sweatpants, a hoodie, an old jacket that looked fairly waterproof, hat, gloves, scarf. A box of granola bars. Three bottles of water.
He layered up his own clothes—thermal shirt, flannel, sweatshirt, his leather jacket, and his battle vest on top because if he was going to risk his life in a blizzard, he was doing it in style. His riding boots were the most waterproof shoes he owned, so those went on too.
He paused by the door, looking at his motorcycle helmet sitting on a nearby shelf.
It would look ridiculous.
But the wind was brutal, and it was still snowing, and maybe it would help him see better. And, you know, keep his face from getting frostbitten?
He grabbed it.
Before putting it on, he pulled his hair back into the messiest bun of his life, and slid the helmet over his head. He caught his reflection in the mirror as he swung open the door.
Jesus H. Christ. He looked like a rejected member of a post-apocalyptic biker gang.
But some guy named Steve was out there freezing to death, and ridiculous was better than dead.
Eddie took a breath, and stepped out into the hall.
It was dark out, nearing 8pm, but the street lights were still on—thank fuck for small miracles. Eddie could barely see ten feet in front of him, but at least he had some light to work with.
The wind hit him like a physical blow, trying to shove him back toward his building like the universe itself was telling him this was a terrible idea. Snow pelted against his visor, some of it sneaking in through the gap at the bottom and hitting his face with icy pinpricks.
The helmet was a bit of a mixed bag. On one hand, it kept the worst of the wind and snow out of his eyes. On the other, snow kept getting behind the visor and melting against his face, and his breath was fogging up the inside. He lifted the visor for a moment to get some air and was immediately blasted in the face with snow.
Visor down it was.
He took his first step off the cleared path near his building and sank.
The snow came up to mid-thigh, and his foot just kept going down, down, down until it hit pavement. No resistance, just powder all the way through. Every single step was like that—lift his leg high, push forward, sink down.
Repeat.
"Fuck," Eddie muttered into his helmet. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
He was already breathing hard, and he'd made it maybe twenty feet. He wasn’t exactly an athlete even in the best of conditions.
This was going to be the longest half mile of his life.
Eddie pushed on, one laborious step at a time. His thighs burned, and he could feel sweat starting to form under all his layers despite the cold. The wind gusts were vicious, sometimes so strong they nearly knocked him sideways. During the worst of them, his visibility dropped to almost zero—just a wall of white, swirling and angry.
He did his best to focus on the street lights. One after another, little beacons of hope among the chaos. He counted the steps between them, trying hard not to think about how far he still had to go.
“Chrissy is going to murder me,” he mumbled to himself, lifting his leg for what felt like the thousandth time. “If I survive this, she's going to actually kill me. And I'll deserve it.”
Maybe she'd been right about the gym. Maybe trudging through waist-deep snow wouldn't be quite so agonizing if he'd actually done some cardio in the last, oh, decade or so.
If he got through the night alive he’d turn over a new leaf, make use of that buddy pass of hers she was always crowing about.
Maybe.
He made it to the end of his block—a trip that should have taken about two minutes but felt like it had taken an hour. His legs were screaming. His feet were freezing. Snow had somehow gotten into his many shirts, melting and dripping down his chest.
But when he turned the corner onto the next street, he caught a lucky break. By sheer chance, the way the new TD Bank building was situated, it had blocked much of the wind, creating a weird pocket where the snow was only calf-deep. Eddie could have cried with relief. He walked almost normally for a glorious fifty feet, making better time than he had in the last ten minutes combined.
Of course, that kind of luck couldn't last.
The next cross street was a main road—wider, with fewer buildings, and the wind had full reign. The snow drifts here were wild, sculpted into weird shapes by the constant gusts. Some spots were barely covered, the pavement almost visible. Others had drifts that came up nearly to his chest.
“Alabama and E Michigan,” he repeated to himself like a mantra. “Burgundy BMW. Guy named Steve. You got this, Munson. Don't be a hero, just be an idiot with a good sense of direction.”
Time became meaningless. He had to focus on buildings, on street signs, on anything solid to orient himself. Eddie’s phone was in his pocket, but he didn't want to stop moving long enough to check how long he’d been out here. Stopping felt dangerous, like if he paused he might not start again.
His breath was coming harder and harder inside the helmet, fogging up the visor even more. He lifted it again, just for a moment, and tried to get his bearings.
There—a street sign, barely visible through the snow. E Michigan.
Eddie's heart leapt. He was so close.
He turned onto the street, squinting through the snow, looking for any sign of a car in the road. For a moment he wondered if this Steve guy had already given up, if he'd tried to walk somewhere on his own and Eddie was out here risking his life for nothing.
Then he saw it.
A dark shape, half-buried in snow. Burgundy, barely visible under all the white. He could just make out the BMW logo on the front.
In a move he’d deny until the day he died, Eddie punched the air. He'd made it.
He trudged the last few feet to the car and knocked on the driver's side window with his gloved hand.
For a terrifying beat, nothing happened.
Then the door cracked open an inch, and a voice—hoarse, tired, but alive—said,
"Holy shit, you're real. I thought Robin was fucking with me."
Steve—because this had to be the guy, right?—pushed the door open wider, and through his fogged-up helmet and the continuously swirling snow, Eddie could just barely make out the shape of a person unfolding from the driver's seat.
He lifted the visor so he could actually see the guy, and—
Oh.
Oh no.
Steve was hot.
Like, stupidly hot. Unfairly hot. The kind of hot that made Eddie forget how to form words for a second, which was really inconvenient when he was supposed to be, like, rescuing the guy.
Even half-frozen and clearly miserable, Steve was gorgeous. He looked like he'd walked out of a cologne ad—sharp jaw, perfect nose—and his hair was doing this swoopy thing that shouldn't have looked this good after sitting in a car during a blizzard but somehow absolutely did. His eyes were huge and worried, and even in the dim light Eddie could tell they were pretty.
Focus, Munson. This is not the time.
"Uh, yeah," Eddie said, his voice coming out slightly strangled. "Yeah, I'm real. Hi. I'm Eddie."
Steve blinked at him, then looked at the top of his motorcycle helmet, then back at Eddie's face. "You walked here. In this. Wearing that?"
"Safety first," Eddie said, tapping the helmet. His brain was still offline, apparently, because that was a stupid thing to say.
But Steve laughed—actually laughed, this startled, slightly hysterical sound that made Eddie's stomach do a weird flip.
"Oh my god," Steve said. "Robin is going to lose her mind. She's going to—okay, hang on." He ducked back into the car, and Eddie heard some rustling inside the car. A moment later, the door opened, and Steve started to climb out.
He was tall.
Okay he was almost exactly Eddie’s own height, but for the sake of his rapidly deteriorating composure—tall.
Tall and broad-shouldered, with an ass that refused to quit.
Eddie forced himself to focus on the situation at hand.
Steve was not dressed for this weather. He had on jeans, regular sneakers that were already soaked through, and a jacket that looked more for style than function.
"Okay," Eddie said, swinging the backpack off his shoulders. "I brought you some stuff. Warm clothes, food, water—"
"Clothes," Steve said immediately, hugging himself. "Oh my god, please tell me you have a hat. I have—I had a hat, but I think I left it at Dustin's the last time and—" His teeth were chattering so hard he could barely get the words out.
"Yeah, yeah, I got you." Eddie unzipped the backpack and started pulling things out. "Here—hat, gloves, scarf. I brought a hoodie and sweatpants too if you want to layer up. And this jacket, it's not the warmest but I think it's waterproof."
Steve grabbed the hat first and pulled it on immediately. It was one of Eddie's own beanies—black with a little flaming devil patch and Skull & Dagger Tattoo embroidered on the fold in faded white thread. It should have been silly on this clean cut, vaguely preppy guy, but instead it just made him look—
Stop it.
"Thank you," Steve said, and he sounded so genuinely grateful that Eddie felt something warm bloom in his chest despite the frigid temperature. "Seriously, thank you so much. Robin said she posted but I didn't think anyone would actually—" He pulled on the gloves, flexing his fingers. He met Eddie's eyes with an intensity that caught him off guard, like he couldn't quite believe Eddie was real. "I can't believe you came out here."
"Yeah, well." Eddie shrugged, trying to play it cool though he was pretty sure his face was bright red under that godforsaken helmet. Couldn’t he have met Steve under literally any other circumstances? Preferably on a night out when he had his best jeans on and his hair down. At the right bar where he wouldn’t have to wonder if he was barking up the wrong tree.
Alas.
"I wasn't doing anything except freezing on my couch. At least this way I'm freezing with purpose."
Steve pulled the hoodie on over his own jacket, then the borrowed one over that. He completed the look by wrapping the scarf around his neck three times till it covered half his face. A travesty, yes, but he looked a little less like he was about to die of hypothermia at least.
"Do you want the sweatpants too? You could put them on over your jeans."
"I'm okay for now," Steve said, pulling the scarf down a bit to be heard. Then he looked at Eddie—really looked at him for the first time, taking in the snow pants, the leather jacket, the battle vest, the motorcycle helmet. "You look like you're about to fight in some kind of post-apocalyptic biker war."
Eddie barked out a laugh, equally shocked and delighted that Steve had apparently had the exact same thought he'd had about his own reflection. "That's the aesthetic I was going for, actually. You’ve gotta really commit to it, y’know?"
Steve laugh too, a surprised, unrestrained, joyous sound and Eddie decided right then that he would trudge through a thousand snowstorms if it meant hearing that it again.
Get it together, Munson.
He's straight.
He's… probably straight?
He's probably definitely straight.
Eddie cleared his throat. "So, your friend said you were trying to get to your kids?"
Steve groaned, tilting his head to the sky. "They're not really my kids, Robin just likes to give me shit. I used to babysit all these kids back home, right? And I kind of just… kept looking out for them even after they grew up? It's a long story, but two of them, Dustin and his girlfriend Erica just moved to the city a few months ago. It’s their first time living away from home or a college dorm. I-I just wanted to make sure they were okay, and with the power being out I just…" He gestured helplessly at the frozen mess around them. "I didn't think it would be this bad."
"The news is calling it the storm of the century."
"Yeah, well, they also said the world would end in 2012 and here we are." Steve looked at his car, half-buried in snow, and let out a defeated sigh. "So what's the plan? You said you might be able to walk me somewhere?"
Eddie nodded. “As long as it’s not too far. Where exactly is your kid’s place?"
Steve's shoulders slumped. "Not you too."
Eddie grinned wickedly. "Just tell me—is he a daddy's boy?"
“Okay!” Steve made a strangled sound of horror and threw his hands up in surrender. “You can call him my kid all you want but please don’t use the word daddy when talking about Dustin ever again.”
Eddie widened his eyes, feigning innocence. “Why not?”
“You know, I think I can find the place myself.”
“Oh don’t be like that Stevie,” Eddie teased, the nickname rolling off his tongue like it was natural. “Seriously, though. I’m in this with you now. No daddy jokes. Just tell me where we’re going.”
Steve shook his head, chuckling despite himself, and pointed down the road Eddie had just turned away from. "I think it’s just another half mile or so that way."
Eddie’s heart sank. The snow drifts down there had been massive. His legs were practically dead already from the walk here and even through two pairs of socks and his boots his own feet were freezing. Poor Steve was only wearing regular sneakers.
"Yeeeaaah," Eddie drew the word out slowly, trying to soften the blow. "About that."
Eddie's hands were so cold he could barely feel his fingers. He stood at his apartment door, helmet still on, fumbling uselessly with his keyring in one hand while using his phone as a flashlight with the other while Steve waited patiently behind him.
At least getting Steve to agree to come back to his place had been a relatively easy endeavor. One look at Eddie's face when he'd said "about that" and Steve seemed to read the situation loud and clear. The poor guy might have been a bit delusional about the risks of driving into a blizzard to check on his kids, but he wasn't suicidal enough to trudge through chest-high snow drifts in sneakers when there was an easier, warmer alternative.
"Come on, come on," Eddie muttered to himself, trying to get the right key into the lock. Of course, his fingers chose that moment to completely cramp up, keys and phone both slipping from his grasp.
"Shit."
He bent down to grab them and promptly smacked his head against the door with a loud thunk.
"You okay?" Steve asked, barely contained amusement in his voice.
"Peachy."
At least the helmet had cushioned the blow.
His pride was a little bruised though.
After what felt like an eternity, he managed to unlock the door, shouldering it open with perhaps a bit more force than necessary.
The apartment wasn’t all that much warmer than outside, but being out of the wind and wet made it feel like a goddamn tropical paradise in comparison. Eddie stepped into his tiny kitchen area, snow immediately beginning to melt off him, creating a puddle on the floor. Steve followed, closing the door behind them and nearly bumping into Eddie in the cramped space.
"Sorry," Steve said, steadying himself with a hand on the wall by Eddie’s shoulder. "Didn't realize how small—not that there's anything wrong with small! Small is great. Small is cozy. Small is—"
"Steve?” Eddie croaked out through the helmet, trying to be cool when the very hot man he’d just rescued was suddenly very close to being pressed against him.
"Yeah?"
Eddie ducked under Steve’s arm and gestured around at the apartment.
Crisis averted.
"It's fine. I know it's tiny. Kitchen, living room, and bedroom all in one convenient location."
Steve huffed a laugh, a bit of tension leaving his shoulders. "At least you don't have to walk far to get anywhere. Very efficient."
"Exactly,” Eddie said with a flourish, propping his phone up on a small shelf so they could actually see what they were doing. “That's what I tell myself every month when I pay rent."
Finally, he reached up and pulled off the damn helmet.
"Do you think you could send Robin an update through Reddit?" Steve asked, patting down his pockets.
Eddie's hair—which had long since escaped its bun—fell around his shoulders in a tangled mess. He shook his head out, working his fingers through the worst of the knots, trying to coax some feeling back into his scalp where the helmet had pressed too tight.
"She's probably losing her mind right about now, but I think my phone is totally de—"
Steve abruptly stopped speaking mid word like he’d seen a rat, or maybe a ghost?
Eddie quickly looked up to find Steve's mouth still hanging slightly open, whatever he'd been about to say apparently lost somewhere between his brain and his tongue.
"Everything okay?"
Steve was staring at him, face pink—windburn probably—his mouth working soundlessly for a second before he spoke again.
"You're so—”
Eddie had just moved to set his helmet down on the small two-seater kitchen table. He paused, hands frozen on the hem of his battle vest. "What?"
"I-I mean, I-I wasn't expecting someone so—"
Eddie quirked a brow and finished shrugging off his vest and jacket, tossing them over the back of one of the chairs. He started working at the zipper of his snow pants next, trying now to panic. "Someone so—what?"
"Uh, young!" Steve blurted out. "Yeah, y'know, I could only see your eyes through the visor before. I thought you looked older than me but we're probably around the same age."
Oh.
Well, that wasn’t so bad.
Eddie pressed a hand to his chest, face arranged in mock offense. "Are you saying I have crow's feet, Stevie?" He couldn't hold it though, breaking into a grin despite himself.
Steve made this sound—soft and delighted and utterly charming—and stepped closer. For a second, Eddie thought Steve might reach out and touch him, maybe brush the hair out of his face or something equally devastating. But Steve cleared his throat instead, stopping just short of his personal space.
"I'm saying, I think you must smile a lot," Steve said softly. "Almost as much as you make others smile. And anyway, they suit you."
With that Steve looked away, and started stripping off his own layers. The borrowed jacket first, then the hoodie. Eddie had to look away too because watching Steve undress in his tiny kitchen was doing things to his mind that were extremely unhelpful right now.
The squelch of damp sneakers being kicked off filled the air as Eddie busied himself wiping up the floor with an old dish towel, then came the rustle of fabric behind him.
"Hey, sorry my jeans are completely soaked through," Steve said. "Could I wear those sweatpants from the bag?"
Eddie had to raise his head again then. A mistake, because Steve had already pulled off both borrowed layers and his own shirt, wet denim hanging dangerously low on his hips. There was chest hair, an honestly unfair amount of it, and a very happy happy-trail, and Eddie's brain completely shut down for a solid three seconds before he was able to shake himself out of it.
"Uh, yeah—yup! Definitely." Eddie lunged for the backpack and fought with the zipper. His hands were still cold, yes, but now they were also clammy.
He tossed the sweatpants to Steve, who caught them easily.
"Thanks. Do you have a dry shirt I could borrow too?"
"Oh! Of course, of course.” Eddie said shaking his head at himself and feeling like a total idiot. “Let me just—" He turned toward his closet, then froze as he remembered the state he'd left it in—a complete disaster. There were clothes everywhere, some clinging to one end of their hanger, some on the floor among the scattered boxes of books and trinkets that hadn’t fit anywhere else. The rest of the place wasn’t any better either. Empty Red Bull cans sat tipped over on the coffee table next to a two day old pizza box. Not to mention The pile of clean-ish laundry he'd been meaning to put away for approximately two weeks now sitting on the chair in the corner.
He opened the closet anyway because what choice did he have, and immediately wanted to sink into the floor.
"Sorry, about the mess. I wasn't exactly expecting company," Eddie said, words tumbling out faster than he could stop them. "I've been meaning to clean, I just, with work and everything I haven't had time, and I know that's what everyone says but I swear I'm not usually this much of a disaster. Well, okay, maybe I am but not like this specifically." He grabbed a black sweatshirt that he knew for a fact was clean and stain-free and turned back around. "Here. This should work."
Steve had already changed into the sweatpants and was watching Eddie with this soft, amused expression that made Eddie's rambling die in his throat.
"You’re fine, Eddie." Steve took the sweatshirt and pulled it on. It was a little small on him, the sleeves clinging to his biceps, the fabric stretching across his shoulders in a way that was practically indecent. "You should see Robin's room. This is nothing."
Eddie found that hard to believe, but he wasn't about to argue with the pretty man currently wearing his clothes.
"I'm pretty sure there's a sentient life-form growing in her laundry basket. I've warned her, but she refuses to listen."
Eddie chuckled, his embarrassment easing by inches. "That does make me feel better. So, Robin—she's a pretty good friend, yeah?"
"The best." Steve's expression brightened, a smile taking over his entire face. "We've been practically inseparable since high school. Platonic soulmates with a capital P."
“That’s sweet.” Eddie couldn’t help thinking of his own unbearable girl best friend. “I’ve got one of those too. Chrissy. We work together at the tattoo shop.”
“The one on your hat?”
Eddie's smile widened, surprised Steve had noticed. "Yup, Skull & Dagger. She mostly does piercings. She's incredible with first timers and nervous kids coming in to get their ears done."
“She sounds like good people.” Steve tilted his head, looking genuinely interested. "How long have you been tattooing?"
"About five years professionally. Longer if you count the extremely questionable stick and pokes I gave myself and my friends in high school."
"Do I want to know what those looked like?"
"Absolutely not."
When they were both settled in dry clothes, Eddie moved to the stove—all of three steps away—and pulled out his battered kettle. "Hot chocolate? I've still got gas, so the stove works."
Steve let out a groan that was borderline obscene. “Yes—please."
Eddie’s face flushed hot despite the cold air and he quickly turned away, grateful for the darkened room for the first time since the power had gone out.
He filled the kettle with water and set it on the burner, grabbed two mugs from the cabinet and his few remaining packets of hot chocolate mix. The good stuff, with the little marshmallows. He might be a disaster, but he had his priorities straight.
"Do you have any candles?" Steve asked.
“Good thinking,” Eddie said, feeling a little dumb again, though he’d been happy to sit in the dark before when he was on his own. "Check the cabinet under the sink. Should be a few in there.”
Steve rummaged around for a minute, emerging victorious with several mismatched candles—one that smelled like vanilla, one like pine, and another that was supposed to be "ocean breeze" but mostly just smelled like fabric softener. He lit them with the lighter Eddie kept by the stove and placed them around the apartment. The flickering light made the space feel closer somehow, more intimate than simply small.
While the water heated, Eddie grabbed his laptop from where it sat on the counter to keep himself busy. It was still at seventy-eight percent, thank fuck.
"Movie?" He offered. It was the perfect thing to keep things from getting awkward and maybe distract him from Steve’s… everything. "I've got enough battery to make it through one, I think."
"Sure, sounds good."
When the hot chocolate was ready, they settled on the couch, hands wrapped around their warm mugs, sitting closer than strictly necessary but what else could they do on a compact love-seat with rapidly dropping temperatures. The better to see the small screen with anyway, Eddie supposed. He pulled one of the blankets around them both, trying not to think about how he could feel the warmth of Steve's body through two layers of clothing.
"So, what are we watching?" Steve asked, sipping gingerly at his hot chocolate like it was some kind of elixir from the gods.
Eddie scrolled through his limited offline options. "Let’s see, I've got—The Princess Bride, Lost Boys, The Craft, oh—god, why do I even have this—"
Steve snorted into his mug and nearly choked. "Magic Mike, eh?"
"It was strictly for research purposes." Eddie quickly scrolled away from the offending title, focusing on the rest of their options.
Well, that particular cat was out of the bag, Eddie guessed. He just hoped Steve didn’t get uncomfortable about sharing such close proximity to a queer guy. He was pretty sure Steve was a safe person, but you never really knew till you knew.
"Research." Steve leveled him with a flat stare.
But he wasn’t running for the door, so Eddie counted that as a win and felt his lips curve into smirk. "I am a tattoo artist after all, Stephen. When I'm not busy rescuing fair princes from their fancy carriages trapped in the tundra anyway. I need to understand muscle definition."
"Uh huh." Steve was full-on beaming now, eyes alight with it. "And did you learn a lot about muscle definition while watching Channing Tatum and his rippling abs shake his ass?"
"So much. Incredibly informative." Eddie clicked on The Princess Bride before this conversation could go any further. "But I’m off the clock so I think we better stick with something a little less... educational. For tonight."
Yikes.
‘For tonight’, like this would turn into a regular thing somehow. Eddie groaned at himself internally. What was wrong with him today? He literally could not stop putting his foot in his mouth.
The movie started, and he forced himself to relax as the familiar storybook title sequence rolled across the screen. Eddie must have seen this movie over a hundred times in his life, could probably quote it from start to finish, but it truly never got old.
They sipped their hot chocolate in comfortable silence for a while, the glow of the laptop screen washing their faces in pale blue light that flickered with each scene change.
"I still can't believe you actually came out in that storm for a stranger," Steve said quietly, about twenty minutes in. "Like, I can't wrap my head around it."
If he was honest, Eddie kinda couldn’t believe it either.
He shrugged, trying to play it off. "Wasn't doing anything else."
"But, you could've died."
"So could you."
"Yeah, but I was being an idiot. You didn't have to be an idiot with me."
Eddie chanced a glance over at him. Steve was still staring at the screen, but Eddie could tell he wasn't really watching it just then. "Someone had to make sure you didn't freeze to death in your fancy BMW."
"It's not that fancy."
"It's a BMW, Steve."
"Fair point." Steve tipped his mug back, draining the last dregs of his hot chocolate that probably wasn’t hot anymore, set it down on the table next to the laptop and glanced over at him. "Still. Thank you. Really."
Eddie shrugged again and fought not to squirm, suddenly finding it difficult to meet Steve’s eyes again. “You’d have done the same.”
"What makes you say that?"
Eddie raised both eyebrows.
“Right,” Steve said with a self-deprecating sigh. “I drove out in a blizzard for pair of young adults who are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.”
"Even if that weren't the case, you reek of do-gooder."
"Oh, I reek do I?"
"Absolutely. It's like your natural cologne. Eau de Good Samaritan."
Steve bumped his shoulder against Eddie's, warm and solid. "Takes one to know one."
They fell into an easy rhythm after that while the movie played, trading an almost constant commentary back and forth.
"I don't care what anyone says," Eddie said during the sword fight scene, "this is the best choreographed fight in cinema history."
"Better than Star Wars?"
"Did I stutter?"
Steve considered it, head tilted. "Okay, fine. You might be right."
"Might be?"
"Fine. You're right—happy?"
"Ecstatic."
As the movie went on, the temperature continued to drop. Eddie swore he could see his breath in the candlelight now, little puffs of vapor with each exhale. He pulled the blanket tighter around them, but it wasn't enough.
"Jesus," Steve muttered, blowing hot air into his hands while he rubbed them together. "How is it getting colder?"
"Shitty insulation. Place is basically a glorified cardboard box."
Steve huffed out a laugh, then pressed himself more firmly into Eddie's side. "Is this okay?"
“Yep!” Eddie squeaked, his brain momentarily short-circuiting. "Totally fine. Body heat and all that."
"Survival."
"Exactly. Pure survival instincts, we’re practically embodying Bear Grylls."
They were fully pressed together then, ankle to thigh to hip, and Eddie was trying very hard not to think about it. He forced himself to focus on the movie. On Wesley and Buttercup, the impending Rodents of Unusual Size, on literally anything except how close Steve was and how good he smelled even after trudging through the snow.
Somewhere around the end of the Fire Swamp scene, Eddie felt Steve's head drop onto his shoulder.
"Steve?"
A soft snore was his only reply.
Eddie glanced down. Steve had completely passed out, face relaxed in sleep, one hand curled loosely in the blanket between them. He looked younger like this, peaceful, and Eddie felt something dangerous begin to flutter in his stomach.
He carefully shifted to check his phone without disturbing Steve.
1:47 AM.
Jesus. No wonder Steve had crashed. The guy had probably been running on adrenaline and fear alone for hours before Eddie had even shown up.
He reached over and closed the laptop, saving what little battery they had left for the morning. The apartment plunged into deeper darkness, only the low flickering candles providing any light.
"Steve," Eddie said softly, giving his shoulder a gentle shake. "Hey. Wake up."
Steve made a noise of protest, burrowing into Eddie’s neck.
Fucking hell.
Being this cute should be illegal.
"Come on, sleeping beauty. You can't stay on the couch, you'll freeze."
"'M fine here," Steve mumbled, words slurred with sleep.
"Steve. My bed is like ten feet away and has more blankets."
That got Steve's attention. He lifted his head, blinking blearily into Eddie's face. "What time is it?"
"Almost two. Come on." Eddie stood, immediately regretting leaving the warm cocoon of blankets and Steve. He held out a hand. "Bed. You'll be more comfortable."
Steve let Eddie pull him to his feet, swaying slightly. "Where're you gonna sleep?"
"Couch is fine, slept there plenty of times."
"No., you just said—" Steve shook his head, more alert now. "No way. That's not fair."
"You're the guest."
Steve scoffed. "A guest who showed up uninvited, took your clothes and drank your hot chocolate and is now stealing your bed? Yeah, great guest." He crossed his arms. "I'm not taking it, Eddie."
They stood there in the candlelight locked in a staring content. Both stubborn, both freezing, neither willing to back down.
It almost made Eddie smile.
Finally, Steve sighed. "Alright. We share."
Eddie blinked at him. "What?"
"The bed. We share it. We'll be warmer together anyway, right?" Steve glanced toward the bed, eyes lingering on it for a long moment before he looked back at Eddie. "Unless that's weird. I just thought—like we said—survival and body heat, right?"
"No!" Eddie said too quickly. "I mean, yeah. That makes total sense. Practical."
"Right. Practical."
"Totally practical."
"Glad that's settled." Steve paused, glancing around. "Um, bathroom?"
Eddie pointed to the door near the closet. "There. I have a jug of water by the sink for hand washing and whatever. Towels are fairly clean if you need one."
"Thanks."
The moment the bathroom door clicked shut, Eddie let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He pressed his palms against his eyes, willing his heart rate to return to something approaching normal.
Get it together, Munson. He's just a guy. A very hot, very sweet guy who you rescued from a blizzard and who is now going to sleep in your bed. No big deal. Completely normal. Happens all the time.
He moved around the apartment, blowing out candles one by one until only a single flame remained. He carried it over to the nightstand, its light casting long shadows across the unmade bed.
Eddie climbed in, pulled the covers up, and tried to arrange himself in a way that seemed casual and normal and not like he was having a minor freak-out.
The bathroom door re-opened a few minutes later, and Steve emerged shivering harder than ever, teeth audibly chattering. He looked miserable and cold and his lips were doing this incredibly adorable and sexy pouty thing that Eddie absolutely could not afford to think about too much right now.
Steve practically dove into the bed, immediately plastering himself against Eddie's side like an icy barnacle.
"H-h-holy shit," Steve managed to say through chattering teeth, "you're so w-w-warm."
Eddie couldn't help it, he cackled.
"Don't laugh at me," Steve whined, halfheartedly slapping at Eddie's chest. "I'm warm-blooded. I'm suited for the beach, not this frozen hellscape."
Eddie tried very, very hard not to picture Steve at the beach. Steve in swim trunks. Steve in the sun and sand with water dripping down his—
Stop it.
"The beach, huh?" Eddie said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Let me guess, you're one of those guys who actually looks good in a Speedo."
Steve made an indignant huff. "I would never wear a Speedo."
"Uh huh."
"I'm a board shorts guy, thank you very much."
"Sure you are."
"I am!" Steve's shivering was finally starting to slow, his body relaxing against Eddie's. "Though, I did wear a Speedo back in High school for swim team. It was traumatic."
Teenage Eddie would have had an aneurysm.
"For you or for everyone who had to see it?"
Steve laughed, the sound vibrating through Eddie's chest. "Both, probably."
Without thinking—because thinking was clearly not Eddie's strong suit tonight, or maybe ever—he started rubbing slow circles on Steve's back. Steve made this soft, content noise and nestled impossibly closer, and Eddie felt his pulse kick up, a fire spreading through him that had nothing to do with shared body heat
It was such a small thing, really. Born from exhaustion and the overwhelming affection he had no right to feel for someone he'd met only three hours ago. Eddie dropped a kiss on the top of Steve's head before his brain could catch up to what he was doing.
Steve froze.
Eddie froze.
For one terrible, endless moment, neither of them moved.
Neither breathed.
Then Steve slowly pulled back, just enough to look up at Eddie's face.
I…" Eddie started, panic rising in his throat. "I didn't mean to… that was reflex, I swear. I just—I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."
Steve was looking at him, really looking at him, and Eddie had always been a terrible liar. He could see the exact moment Steve saw right through him, saw past the excuses to whatever desperate, hopeful thing was written all over his face.
"Please don't go back out there," Eddie said quietly. "I don't want you to die of frostbite because I'm an asshole. I swear I'll keep my hands and lips to myself."
Steve's eyes continued to search his face for a long moment. Then, so quietly Eddie almost missed it he said, "don't you dare."
Eddie's breath caught. "What?"
A slow grin spread across Steve's face, and he bit his lip before surging forward to close the distance between them.
The first touch of Steve's lips sent a shock of electricity down Eddie's spine. For a heartbeat he was too stunned to move, could only feel the soft press of their mouths, the warmth of shared breath. Eddie quickly came to his senses, his hand coming up to cup the back of Steve's neck, fingers threading into the hair there as he kissed back like he’d been waiting his whole life for this.
Sweet.
That's what Steve tasted like. Sugar and chocolate and marshmallows and something underneath that was just him. A sound Eddie would be embarrassed about later escaped his throat when Steve's tongue traced the seam of his lips, asking permission Eddie was more than willing to give.
"Okay?" Steve pulled back just enough to ask.
"Very okay," Eddie forced out. His voice sounded wrecked already, even to himself. "Extremely okay."
The laugh that huffed against his lips was soft and breathless. Then they were kissing again, deeper this time, more confident. Eddie's hands found Steve's waist, and the warmth of bare skin where his borrowed sweatshirt had ridden up. Tracing the line of muscle there made Steve shiver under his touch.
Their tangle of limbs somehow worked itself out until Steve was half on top of him, one leg slotted between Eddie's thighs. It'd been too long since he’d been with anyone like this. The pressure was delicious, overwhelming, and he couldn't stop his hips from rolling up, seeking more.
That's when he felt it—Steve was hard, unmistakably so, pressed against Eddie's hip through the layers of fabric between them. Sure they were already making out, but the realization still hit Eddie like a punch to the gut in the best possible way.
Steve wanted this.
Steve wanted him.
"Eddie," Steve gasped into his mouth, and his hips moved too, grinding down like he couldn't help himself, his body acting on pure need.
Somehow they found a rhythm together, rocking against each other at just the right angles. Eddie's hands mapped the planes of Steve's back, traced the shifting contours as Steve moved above him. Every small sound Steve made went straight to Eddie's dick, left him desperate for more. But the sweatpants, the thick fabric between them—it was too much and not nearly enough all at once.
"This is—" Steve panted, easing back to tug at the hem of his sweatshirt. His hair was a glorious disaster, lips kiss-swollen, and Eddie had never seen anything more beautiful. "There's too many—"
"Clothes," Eddie finished for him, already reaching for his own shirt. "Way too many clothes."
"Body heat works better without them anyway, right?" Steve teased, and was already pulling the sweatshirt over his head.
The sight of him—chest hair and broad shoulders and that little dip at his collarbones—made Eddie's mouth go dry.
"That's—yeah. Science."
"Exactly."
There was nothing graceful about the way they stripped. Steve nearly elbowed Eddie in the face. Eddie’s thermal shirt got tangled around his arms. Steve actually did fall halfway off the bed trying to kick off his sweatpants, and they both dissolved into breathless, giddy laughter.
But then they were skin to skin, and the laughter faded into something else entirely.
Eddie had imagined this—or something like it, from the moment he'd seen Steve climb out of that car, but reality was so much better than fantasy. The slide of Steve's naked body against his, the heat building between them, the way Steve's breath stuttered when Eddie's hand traced down his side to settle on the firm swell of his ass. It felt easy and familiar in a way that didn't make sense, like Eddie's body already knew the shape of Steve's without having to look, like they'd done this a hundred times before instead of never.
"God," Steve groaned, kissing him again. Slower this time, deliberate, like he was savoring it and couldn’t get enough. His hands were everywhere—tracing the line of Eddie's ribs, skimming over his waist, fingers digging into his hip—every touch leaving fire in its wake.
And the sounds Steve kept making were driving Eddie insane, small, needy noises that seemed to escape without permission. He wanted to catalog every single one, figure out exactly what made Steve gasp, what made him moan.
Steve’s lips left his mouth to trail kisses along his jaw, down his neck. A sensitive spot just below his ear earned special attention, the scrape of teeth there made Eddie's hips jerk involuntarily. Low laughter rumbled against his throat, vibrating through him.
"Ticklish?" Steve murmured against his skin.
"Shut up."
"Make me."
Eddie did. He pulled Steve back up for another kiss, messier, hungrier, more consuming. Their hips found that rhythm again, now with nothing between them and the friction was bordering on too much. He could feel every generous inch of Steve against him, hot and hard and perfect.
Steve's kisses moved south again, this time with clear intent. Mouth pressed to Eddie's collarbone, his sternum, the soft skin just below his ribs. Each brush of lips was careful, almost reverent. The feel of it was too big to contain. Eddie's hands groped for purchase and tangled in the sheets around him where they held on for dear life.
When Steve reached his navel, he looked up, meeting Eddie's eyes. He licked his lips real slow, and Eddie bit back a whimper at the sight.
"Can I?" Steve asked in a raspy whisper.
Eddie nodded frantically, not trusting himself to speak.
Steve disappeared under the blankets, hands brushing the inside of Eddie's thighs, spreading them gently. Lips pressed to the crease where thigh met groin, the base of his cock, breath teasing over his balls. Then Steve's mouth closed around him—feverishly hot and wet and oh fuck—
Eddie's back arched off the bed as the length of Steve's tongue dragged over the head of his cock, catching in the slit. Hands slid up to grip his hips, holding him steady, and Eddie could feel calluses on Steve's palms, the gentle but insistent pressure keeping him grounded.
Steve knew what he was doing too. Starting slow, teasing, already taking Eddie apart piece by piece. It had been a while, sure, but it was more than that. It was Steve—the care in every caress, the way he seemed to know exactly what Eddie needed.
Eddie's hand found its way to Steve's hair under the blankets, not pushing, just needing to touch, needing the connection. A hum vibrated around him in response, making his toes curl and his breath hitch. He could already feel his orgasm building, pleasure coiling tight at the base of his spine.
"Steve," Eddie gasped out, trying to give warning. "I'm gonna… I'm close, I—"
Steve just hummed again, purposely this time, and doubled down on whatever magic he was working with his tongue. Eddie lasted maybe ten more seconds before he came deep down Steve’s throat with a broken cry of his name, one hand fisted in Steve's hair, the other clawing at the sheets.
Steve sucked him through it, gentle now, before pulling off and crawling back up Eddie's body. The look on his face was unbearably smug, and Eddie couldn't even be mad about it.
"That was—” Eddie covered his face with both hands. “I'm sorry, that was so fast. You're just so good. And you're fucking gorgeous and I haven't been with anyone in—."
"Hey." Steve pulled Eddie's hands away from his face, his expression gone painfully tender. "That was hot as hell. You have no idea."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Steve said with a little nod and a soft huff of laughter. He kissed him, and Eddie could taste himself on Steve's tongue, bitter and salt, and it was all entirely too intimate for a one night stand.
Please god, don’t let this be a one night stand.
"You sound really sexy when you fall apart like that."
Heat rose in Eddie’s cheeks, but he was already pulling Steve closer, already thinking about how he wanted to return the favor. He could feel Steve harder than ever, pressed insistent against his hip, and Eddie’s own desire was already stirring again despite having just come.
He swallowed hard, and shyly met Steve's eyes. "Will you fuck me?"
Steve's eyes went dark, heavy-lidded, and his pupils blown so wide there was barely any color left. "Are you sure?"
“I’m sure.” Eddie puled him down by the neck until their lips were barely a hair’s breadth apart. “I need you.”
Steve kissed him again, deep and thorough, like he was sealing a promise. When he pulled away, his gaze was practically molten. “Do you have—?"
"Side table," Eddie panted, nodding toward the nightstand. "Lube and condoms. Top drawer."
Steve reached over, fumbling in the dim light of the candle for a moment before his hand closed around what he was looking for. "Jesus, that's cold."
It was probably frozen at this rate but Eddie didn’t care. He just wanted Steve inside him now."It’s fine, I—"
Steve shushed him gently. "Give me a second to warm it up, baby."
Baby.
Eddie’s throat went tight.
Steve nestled himself back between Eddie's legs, the blanket hanging around his shoulders like a cape. He rolled the bottle between his palms for a while, and before Eddie knew it there was a slick finger tracing over his hole.
"Is this okay?" Steve asked, the tip of his finger breaching that stubborn ring of muscle.
To Eddie, even that small touch was incredible. "Yeah. Keep going."
Steve did, working him open slowly, carefully. His fingers were patient but firm, and Eddie's breath came faster as Steve found that spot inside him that made stars burst behind his eyelids.
"More," Eddie gasped. "I can take more."
"I know you can." Steve's voice was rough, strained with his own need. Eddie could hear the restraint there, could tell how much effort it was taking Steve to go slow but he didn't rush. He added a finger, and then another until Eddie was writhing against the sheets, pulling his knees to his chest and begging for it.
“Please, Steve.”
Finally—finally—Steve carefully pulled his fingers out. Eddie heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper, felt the bed shift as Steve lined himself up.
The first press of Steve's cock against him stole Eddies breath. Steve pushed in slowly, carefully, and fuck his cock was even better than his fingers had been, the width of him a delicious burning stretch.
It really had been a while—longer than Eddie wanted to admit—and every new sensation was completely overwhelming. The stretch, the fullness, the heat of Steve inside him. Again he was struck with that strange sense of familiarity. It felt incredible, but it also felt like coming home.
Steve moaned wordlessly, barely moving, giving Eddie time to adjust. "You feel—Eddie, you feel so good."
He’d already been half hard from Steve’s fingers but his dick was fully interested again now. The pressure, the slow drag as Steve started to move—it was everything.
"Fuck me," Eddie cried out. "Please, Steve, I need—"
Steve didn’t argue. He pulled out slowly before pushing back in, and they both groaned in tandem at the sensation. Eddie wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist, and Steve found his rhythm quickly, hard and fast and exactly what Eddie wanted.
Steve's breath was hot against his neck, gasping his name between kisses pressed to whatever skin he could reach. Every thrust hit that perfect spot inside, sending shocks of pleasure ricocheting through his entire body.
"Touch yourself," Steve panted. "Want to feel you come around me."
Eddie's hand flew to his cock, stroking himself in time with Steve's thrusts. It didn't take long—he was already so close.
"Steve, I'm—"
"Yeah, me too. Come on, Eddie, let me feel it."
The next thrust hit perfectly, and Eddie came for the second time that night with Steve's name on his lips, spilling over his own hand. His body clenched tight around Steve’s cock, and that was all it took—Steve groaned low and deep, hips stuttering as he followed Eddie over the edge.
For a long time they simply breathed together, Steve's forehead pressed against Eddie's shoulder, both trembling with aftershocks.
Eventually Steve pulled out, gently as he could, and tied off the condom, tossing it in the general direction of the trash can. They'd deal with it in the morning. Right now, Eddie just wanted Steve close.
They settled back into the bed, all wrapped up together, their bodies coated in a layer of sweat. Steve's arm was around him, Eddie's head tucked under Steve's chin, their legs tangled together. A perfect fit, like puzzle pieces.
"Eddie?" Steve's voice was soft, already heavy with sleep.
"Hmm?” Eddie hummed, fighting his own losing battle with the sandman.
"When the storm's over..." Steve paused, and Eddie could feel his throat bob as he swallowed. "Can I take you out? On a real date?"
Eddie's heart stuttered. He pulled back just enough to see Steve's face in the darkness, and found those hazel eyes watching him back with barely concealed hope.
"Yes," Eddie said, unable to stop his smile. "I'd really like that."
Steve's answering grin was bright enough to light up the dark room. He pressed a kiss to Eddie's forehead, sweet and gentle. "Good. It's a date."
Eddie's last thought before sleep claimed him was that sometimes the best things happened in the middle of the worst storms. Sometimes the universe sends you exactly what you need, right when you need it most—even if it arrives in a burgundy BMW wearing impractical footwear.