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Eddie isn’t sure what the correct word for someone like him is. He’s been pondering it over four beers now, watching the bored-looking girl at the center of the room spin around her pole, but without any success.
Pathetic springs to mind, but that isn't strong enough. There must be a stronger word than pathetic for someone spending Christmas at a goddamn sex club. But he was lonely, and he had nowhere to go, so it seemed like a good idea.
It wasn’t. The place is glaringly empty, even Indy’s kink scene having better places to be on this most magical of nights.
He should’ve gone to Kentucky with Wayne.
Except this is the old guy’s first time meeting his girlfriend’s family, and Eddie can just imagine how this would’ve played out if he’d tagged along.
Hi, I’m Eddie, Wayne’s nephew. Yeah, I might look familiar. Yeah, I was on the cover of Rolling Stone last month. Thanks, I’m happy your grandkids like my music. Yeah, no, I didn’t commit those satanic murders, that was- Listen, can we talk about my uncle?
So, instead, here he is.
Fuck, he hasn’t felt this miserable and mad at himself since that one time he told Steve Harrington to get back with his girl while inconspicuously ogling the guy’s sweaty chest hair under his own battle vest.
Eddie sighs, getting up from his chair. He might as well head home while he still has some self-respect left.
He's almost at the exit when something catches his eye. There's a row of stalls in the wall, each with its own lockable door.
The light over one is on.
There's no fucking way, he thinks, even as his feet carry him right over and into the adjacent cabin. Someone probably forgot to kill the light. There's no fucking way anyone is in there. That would be at least as pathetic as a fucking rock star going to a fucking sex club on fucking Christmas day because he's a depressed moron.
Still, he goes in, locks the door and pulls down his pants. The hole in the wall stares back at him like it's trying to mock him. Eddie tells himself to stop being silly.
Worst case scenario is he stands here with his limp dick poking through a hole in the wall like an idiot. Nobody will know, because nobody’s there. Best case scenario is he gets to blow off some steam.
Nothing happens.
Eddie sighs and is just about to pull out when suddenly, there's movement. His heart leaps into his throat. He hears it all through the thin wall. A sharp intake of breath, like whoever is on the other side is just as surprised as him. They probably are. They've probably been in there a while. Then, the thud of knees hitting the floor. Eddie has just enough time to think that the mystery person must be really eager for this before he feels soft, warm lips wrapping around his tip.
Whoever the person in the other stall is, they sure know what they’re doing. They start out gently, slowly sliding Eddie’s swelling cock in and out of that deliciously warm mouth, tongue teasing the length of him. Once he's fully hard, the tongue is joined by a hand, alternating soft licks with firm strokes, and Eddie feels something urgent and hot build at the base of his spine. He moans, fingers grasping the top of the stall for leverage as his hips buck, trying to get closer to that mouth even with the wall between them.
They keep this up for several minutes. Eddie tries to keep his voice down, but it seems like each of his groans and whimpers spurs the other person on. And then, they scrape their teeth over his tip, and a startled curse escapes his lips, and they swallow him all the way down, as far as the wall allows.
Eddie comes with a hoarse shout, spilling hot and wet into that mouth. The other person doesn’t pull away. Eddie feels their throat constricting around him as they swallow.
“Fuuuck,” Eddie groans, forehead sagging against the wall. His arms feel like jelly from supporting his weight. “Shit. Jesus. Shitshitshit.”
And that is when the other person pulls off.
“Wait a sec,” says a voice. A voice garbled and wrecked from sucking his cock and swallowing his come. A voice that Eddie hasn’t heard in ten years. Eddie’s heart stops. On the other side of the wall, a door opens. “Eddie?” Right outside his own door. “Shit, is that really you?” This isn’t real. It’s some bizarre, orgasm-induced pipe dream brought about by too much beer and seasonal depression. There’s no way the person outside is who Eddie thinks he is.
“Eddie, if it’s you, please come out?”
He does. At least he remembers to pull up his pants first.
The door swings open, and there he is. Steve Harrington, ten years older but no less gorgeous, clad in skintight denim and a silky purple shirt, lips turned up into a delighted smile. They’re still swollen and shiny.
“I knew it!” he cheers, pulling Eddie into a hug. “Nobody else babbles curses like that.”
Eddie grunts. Steve pulls back, holding him at arm’s length.
“Looking good,” he smiles. “Even better than on that Rolling Stone cover. How have you been, man? Dustin said you talk sometimes, but you never-”
“What the fuck is going on here?” Eddie blurts. His knees are wobbly and his head is spinning. “You aren’t- … You just sucked my- … You’re straight!”
Steve laughs, and it’s every bit as breathtaking as Eddie remembers.
“Yeah, no, I figured that out a while ago. Which you would know, if you’d just kept in touch.” He winks right into Eddie’s gobsmacked face, then takes him by the shoulder and steers him towards the bar. “How about you buy me a drink? We can celebrate this little Christmas miracle, and I’ll bring you up to speed.”