#hannahs an idiot | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

margosfairyeye · 1 year

Text

paper cut

(rated T, idiots to lovers, hurt/comfort)

you can also read it on ao3

“Shit!”

Eddie looks over as Steve doubles over, clutching his hand.

“You all right, Harrington?” Eddie asks carefully.

They’re sitting side by side on Eddie’s couch (a new and improved version of the old beat to hell one they’d had in the old trailer, provided by the government along with the new trailer itself) while Eddie tries to study for finals and Steve leafs through his papers, providing such helpful commentary as “Wow, you really fucked this one up, huh?” and, “Don’t you think books should have a list of themes at the end, like a cheat sheet?”

Steve whimpers and Eddie jolts into action, grabbing the old first aid kit from the bathroom and sprinting back to the couch.

Eddie throws himself down next to Steve, not bothering to worry about how close he’s sitting during what clearly is some kind of emergency. His stomach churns, panic rising as he thinks about all the things that could possibly be wrong, batshit monsters included. “Shit, is it your bat wounds? Is there something here? Come on, man, you’ve got to at least reassure me you’re not about to keel over.”

Steve’s still curled into himself, which is a bad fucking sign. Eddie’s pretty sure that he got lucky with the murder charges getting dropped, what with the government interference and all, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to talk his way out of a second inconvenient supernatural death in his trailer with him present.

Plus, there’s the fact that Eddie is completely, depressingly, overwhelmingly in love with Steve. It would utterly devastate him if Steve decided to die on his ugly living room carpet.

Eddie has been kind of under the impression that Steve is secretly a superhero, just without the spandex (shit, he could pull off the spandex, though). How else could he explain Steve walking around with bleeding abdominal wounds and pretending to be totally fine, or (apparently) getting beaten bloody and tortured while still slinging zippy one-liners? Steve’s like, Hollywood action hero levels of badass. So if he’s fucking whimpering on Eddie’s couch, Steve must be really hurt.

But fuck if Eddie’s going to let Steve go without putting up one hell of a fight. Even if it means fighting Vecna, second edition.

Eddie puts his hand gently but insistently on Steve’s shoulder, forcing bravado into his voice. “Okay, Harrington, let’s see the damage.”

Wincing, Steve uncurls himself, offering his left hand (which had been cradled in his right) to Eddie. Eddie takes Steve’s hand in his own, dimly aware of every inch of their skin that touches as he examines it, looking for a gash, a stab wound, a broken bone—hell, even a fucking leech or something.

But there’s just a little cut on the tip of Steve’s thumb, bright red but not actively bleeding.

Without thinking about it, Eddie smooths his own thumb over the tiny cut.

Steve cringes, trying ineffectively to pull his hand from Eddie’s grasp. “Ow! Munson, what the fuck?!”

“Is this it?” Eddie asks skeptically. “A paper cut? That’s…are you also being psychically tortured or something, like, in addition to the paper cut?”

Steve looks at him, eyes narrow, pain drawn in lines across his forehead. He looks like he might be about to deck Eddie, which Eddie might kind of deserve because he feels like he’s about to start laughing. “No? Shut the fuck up, it’s deep. Cuts like this always get infected, too, and people die from that. You can’t underestimate this shit.”

It’s not funny, really. Steve is clearly in a lot of pain, but…this is the guy who Dustin said was the most fearless guy he knew? This is the guy who faced down Vecna without breaking more than a sweat, laid low by a paper cut?

Steve taps his knee against Eddie’s. “Come on, man, pour something antiseptic on it or something, before it gets worse.”

And despite it all, this is the guy Eddie is head over fucking heels for.

Steve looks at Eddie pleadingly (hopefully). And shit, there’s literally nothing Eddie wouldn’t do when Steve gives him that look, including acting like a paper cut is a lethal wound.

Eddie flips open the first aid kit with his free hand to reveal…not much. A couple of bandaids, some butterfly bandages, and some packets of barbecue sauce. Not an antiseptic wipe to be seen.

“Uh,” Eddie shows him the sparse first aid kit, holds up a bandaid. “Will this help?”

Steve looks unimpressed. “Do you have any alcohol we could just pour over it?”

Eddie knows he means like, hard liquor, but the thing is that shit isn’t cheap. Uncle Wayne probably wouldn’t give a shit if they took shots of his good whiskey, but pouring it out…

“Like, beer?” Eddie asks hopefully.

Steve shakes his head, groaning. “Too sticky.”

Which, yeah, obviously. Eddie weighs the pros and cons of trying to just convince Steve that his cut is going to be fine, or possibly getting in the van and driving to the pharmacy for new first aid supplies that he can’t afford and isn’t sure Steve can either. Maybe they could steal them, that might be a fun bonding activity, or maybe Eddie can trade the pharmacist some off-label pharmaceuticals for some hydrogen peroxide or something.

“Saliva,” Steve says suddenly, looking Eddie dead in the eye. Shit, his eyes are pretty, and this close Eddie can see the little flecks of gold and green in his eyes.

Then the word actually catches up to him. “What?”

“Spit, I think it’s supposed to help with shit not getting infected.”

Eddie blinks at him. “So do you want to spit on your thumb and then put a bandaid on it?”

Steve huffs in frustration. “I don’t think it can be your own spit, man.”

“Oh.” Eddie feels a little frustrated himself, since he’s almost entirely sure this is all bullshit— Steve doesn’t fucking need anything but soap and a bandaid and maybe a night of good sleep—and Eddie is supposed to be studying for fucks sake, and…and he’s the only other one here. Steve said it can’t be his own spit and Eddie is the only other one here. Oh.

Eddie’s still holding Steve's hand in his palm, and he runs his finger along the side of Steve’s thumb. Steve doesn’t flinch this time, just looks at him expectantly, that hopeful look that Eddie really can’t say no to.

It’s a bad idea. Eddie is going to get way more out of putting his mouth on Steve’s finger than Steve will—he's going to be on a different fucking planet than Steve, who’s just looking for a quick fix for a papercut and isn’t having trouble with his jeans suddenly feeling way too tight.

It’s a bad fucking idea but Eddie nods.

“Yeah, okay. Sure, uh, I can…yeah, I can do that.”

Eddie slowly lifts Steve’s hand towards his mouth. His mouth suddenly feels incredibly fucking dry, and he can feel himself tensing up, ready to run in case it was just a joke, in case he gives himself away somehow and this ends in disgust. He’s half expecting Steve to laugh and say it was all a setup, joke's on him. He’s half expecting Steve to flinch away, to see Eddie’s feelings clearly visible in his eyes.

Steve doesn’t do shit, though. Just watches Eddie with wide eyes, his lips slightly parted. Eddie has his thumb pressed against Steve’s pulse point, and Steve’s pulse jumps, slipping into a fast gallop that Eddie can only assume is due to stress.

His own pulse pounding in his ears, Eddie puts Steve’s thumb in his mouth. He realizes, after he’s already done it, that there were other ways of accomplishing this. He could have spit on his own hand and like, rubbed it on Steve’s thumb or something. He could have licked Steve’s cut, quick and dirty, but like…quick.

But Eddie’s brain power is slowly draining down towards his groin, and he sucks the whole damn finger into his mouth, rolling his tongue over Steve’s little paper cut like he’s fucking fellating the finger.

Steve’s mouth drops open, a little puff of air blown out into the space between them, then bites his lip. His eyes are dark, watching Eddie, but it still looks like he could be in pain. Eddie softens the pressure of his mouth, sucking gently, just like, trying to make sure he’s done a good enough job that Steve can relax.

He’s holding Steve’s hand, still, his fingers gently curled around Steve’s, and it feels, all of a sudden, incredibly intimate. Eddie should take Steve’s thumb out of his mouth—Jesus Christ, should he—but the intense eye contact and the way Steve is biting his lip red and the way his thumb feels against Eddie’s tongue, a good kind of pressure, is all adding up to this moment that Eddie wants to live in. For a second, he can pretend this isn’t some inane injury thing, can pretend that Steve’s as into him as he’s into Steve, that Steve wants Eddie and Eddie is just teasing the shit out of his thumb.

And then Steve clears his throat and his eyes slip down to Eddie’s lips. “I think, uh, I think that’s good, maybe?”

Shit, yeah, of course. Eddie parts his lips, moves Steve’s thumb away from his mouth, although he does it slowly enough that the pad of Steve’s thumb drags along his lip a bit, and fuck if that isn’t a turn on as well.

“Yeah, right. Is that—is it better?”

It’s fucking awkward, is what it is. Eddie feels hot all over, can tell he’s probably flushed, and his jeans are way too damn tight in a way that’s probably really obvious. And Steve’s thumb—shit, it’s shiny and wet and way too suggestive for Eddie’s current state, and the paper cut still looks completely fine.

Steve’s eyes slip briefly away from Eddie—from where he was staring at Eddie’s fucking mouth—and down to his thumb, his hand still cradled in Eddie’s. Steve licks his lips, considering his thumb. Eddie is waiting for the other shoe to drop still—for Steve’s expression to shift to disgust, or for him to just casually ask for a bandaid (not like it will stick now), like this is a normal thing friends do for each other for minor injuries.

He’s not expecting Steve to suddenly lunge forward, pushing Eddie back against the back of the couch, and press his own lips against Eddie’s. It takes Eddie a moment to even catch up to what’s happening, his brain stalling out at the unexpected kiss. Because that’s what’s happening, Steve fucking Harrington is kissing him, and once Eddie realizes that, he jumps into action, kissing back hard. His fingers clutch at Steve’s hand, at his spit-soaked thumb, his other hand wrapping around Steve’s back, and Steve moans into Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie’s startled enough by that to part his lips, and Steve immediately deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue into Eddie’s mouth. He presses his free hand to Eddie’s neck, cradling his jaw. It’s sweet and hot and fucking unexpected, and Eddie feels like he must have fallen asleep, must be dreaming this entire scenario. Except Steve is basically on his lap now, and he feels warm and solid and he’s kissing Eddie better than Eddie’s ever been kissed in his entire life, and it’s all too real to be anything else.

After a long moment, Steve pulls back, leaning away but not moving off of Eddie’s lap. Which Eddie isn’t complaining about, although he’s sure Steve can feel how hard he is.

Maybe that’s not a bad thing, though.

“Finally,” Steve murmurs, leaning back in for another quick kiss, more of a peck. A kiss that’s more fond than passion. Eddie’s had even fewer kisses like that in his life. Steve is good at the deep tongue kissing, and he’s good at the cute chaste kissing, apparently. He’s a goddamn force. “I thought you were never going to kiss me.”

“Technically,” Eddie says, and his voice is strained and hoarse, embarrassingly so, since Steve still sounds suave and like, in control of his tone, “you kissed me.”

“You just sucked on my thumb,” Steve grins. “That totally counts. It’s lip to skin contact.”

Eddie has to admit, that kind of sounds like it does count. Plus, he’ll totally take the personal clout that comes with making the first move on Steve Harrington. Even if he did it without thinking, just acting on the want coursing through him every time they’re together. Except, now that he’s thinking about it, Steve totally walked him to that action, and now he’s looking gleeful and happy, and not surprised in the least.

“Was that—” Eddie presses his palm against his forehead. “Was that a move? Did I just fall for a paper cut move?”

Steve grins. “Kind of? I mean I threw out the pitch but you hit it over the fence.” Eddie must look confused, because Steve rolls his eyes. "I wasn’t expecting you to fucking suck on my finger, but damn. ”

Steve runs his hand through his hair, mussing it a little, and Eddie wonders if he’s allowed to muss it now, too. Eddie tentatively reaches up, curls his fingers into the strands of Steve’s hair, just holding on for now, and Steve gives another quiet moan. Steve’s eyes are dark and he looks almost as turned on as Eddie feels, and a wave of pride washes over Eddie.

“Guess the Munson moves are almost as good as the Harrington moves, huh?”

Steve shrugs noncommittally. “Yeah, they’re okay.” But he leans down and kisses Eddie again, so Eddie’s counting it as a win. Maybe not an entirely intentional win, sports metaphors aside, but still.

“So,” Eddie says when they break apart again, panting, Steve’s lips shiny and bruised red, “was all of that an act? You’re not really that upset about a paper cut?”

Steve shrugs. “I mean, it hurts like a bitch, but I saw an opening and I went for it.” His smile turns devious. “In fact, I think there might be some other injuries you should check, on more uh, sensitive spots. Now that I know you’re so good at tending to my wounds.”

He gives Eddie a meaningful look, and Eddie doesn’t need to be asked twice. He jumps off the couch, pulling Steve with him, hand still clutching his barely injured finger. He pauses in the hallway, just outside of his bedroom, a place they haven’t really been together, because there wasn’t an excuse, because it felt like a Thing before.

“Put my mouth to work,” Eddie says quietly, raising his eyebrow, and laughs as Steve all but pushes him through the door.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #stranger things fic #hannah writes #seriously idiots to lovers

38 notes · View notes