Boltedfruit Archive

Eddie made the mistake of getting too comfortable.

The side business of dealing drugs in high school had naturally developed into what had since become a thriving (albeit small) operation.

He had suppliers. A street team. He had buyers all across Indiana, and as of two weeks ago exactly a handful of buyers across state lines. One in Ohio and a few in Michigan. He’s taking off. Hitting it big, and it’s exciting.

He sold other things too, but the drugs were the heavy hitters. He’d never seen so much cash in his life.

Then Steve Harrington, former King of Hawkins High, popped him on the side of the road for walking a little too wobbly for his liking. Within a few hours, he had Eddie held on possible misdemeanor charges.

Eddie isn’t happy.

“I was a little drunk on a Saturday night, fucking sue me,” he calls down the hall to Steve. He’s training some new guy to watch the overnighters. “But not really. That last part, I mean.”

He hasn’t seen Steve since high school. He’d fallen off the radar of general gossip until reappearing in full color as newly minted Deputy Sheriff Harrington.

That was a few years ago. 1988 had seen them both changed.

Eddie’s been sitting in holding for hours, handcuffs rubbing his wrists raw. Steve had made sure they were tight when he snapped them on.

Eddie’s plenty familiar with handcuffs, but these are the real deal. And it’s not nearly as exciting when used in an official capacity.

“From King to cop. How the mighty have fallen,” he taunts.

He hears slow steps a few seconds later echoing down the hall. Eddie, Steve and the trainee are the only ones back here and Eddie is bored.

Steve stops at the bars. He’s chewing gum like an asshole. He watches Eddie with hooded eyes.

“Shut up, Munson.”

“Get a judge to give me a gag order and maybe I’ll try.”

Steve rolls his eyes and walks away just as slowly.

Eddie bounces his knee, chews his bottom lip, rocks mildly back and forth. He gets up and paces. He uses the dirty toilet in the corner to piss. He goes back to pacing. Then he goes to the bars and starts clanking the handcuffs against them.

It takes a few minutes, but Steve eventually reappears. He looks as disinterested in Eddie as he was before.

“It’s not like you weren’t blackout drunk every party you threw back in the day. I went out, had some fun. Let me go.”

Steve’s eyes trail over him. Slow, everything about him now is slow. He remembers a guy who fidgeted and anxiously tugged his hair with every slight inconvenience.

“I was a kid. You sell to them.”

Eddie shrugs, wrapping his fingers around the bars. “I have rent to pay same as everybody else.”

“I saw. That big house by Lover’s Lake.”

Eddie falters at that.

Steve whistles long and low. “Must have gotten quite the discount. Not even my folks could afford land out there.”

He walks away.

Eddie fumes.

Nobody knew about that house except for him and his closest people.

He slams the cuffs against the bars before going back to pacing.

–

Steve is talking to the trainee. Eddie can’t make out what they’re talking about, but before long he hears the main door open and close with a jangle of keys. The same that let him in here in the first place.

Then Steve is back, wooden chair in hand. He drops it to the floor with a loud bang and places his hand on the back of it.

“Step to the back of the cell with your stomach to the wall and your hands where I can see them.”

He’s still chewing the gum. It smacks loud and wet in the spaces between his words. It’s grating.

Eddie begins walking backwards. “Now see, I never got that. Place them where you can see? How am I supposed to know how good your eyesight is?”

Steve sighs, looks away like something else has drawn his attention. He keeps chewing.

Eddie feels his lower eyelid twitch. He follows the order and hates the feeling of cement against his stomach.

Keys. The cell door opening. The chair being dragged in and stopped.

Then hands are grabbing the juncture of his linked wrists and leading him around. He spins a little, winding up with his ass in the chair.

Steve easily unlocks the cuffs, letting Eddie have a moment to rub at them.

They look at each other.

Then Steve is grabbing one hand, then the other, has Eddie’s arms around the back of the chair and back in cuffs before he even realizes what’s happened.

When he pulls at his arms, he realizes the bastard wove them through the opening in the back. If Eddie stood, he’d have to bring the chair with him.

Great.

“What the fuck, Steve?”

“It’s Deputy Sheriff to you. And I was getting sick of hearing you bang around back here. This way you won’t be so annoying.”

Eddie just laughs.

Steve stares down at him, his heavy eyes seeming heavier the longer he doesn’t say anything. Strangely, he feels like an adult is mad at him.

“Why bother with me anyway? You have the whole county at your disposal. What’s a drunk and disorderly compared to literally anything else? I’m nobody.”

Steve chews and chews. Blows and pops a tiny pink bubble. He’s standing awfully close.

“I could get you on RICO.”

“What?“

“You’re a drug lord, right? Or is that some other Eddie Munson I don’t know about?”

Eddie’s mouth might as well be flapping.

“You do well. Your salary is a hell of a lot higher than mine. Maybe I missed the boat. Think it’s too late to change careers?” Steve nods down at him, appraising him like a fine antique at auction. Steve touches his face, pushes his head to one side with fingers sunk into his cheek. Eddie pushes back. “You could afford the fines. But the time? I don’t know if you could handle twenty years.”

Eddie can’t manage words. His dad did time on and off again until he got taken out by some idiot with too much pride in minor issues. His dad died in a prison cafeteria over an opened bag of fucking beef jerky.

Eddie has nightmares about it. About jail. About prison.

He’s only ever confided in Chrissy about it, but it’s his worst fear. The one thing that bothers him about his job. The rest is collateral.

“And since you’re well established in human trafficking, I assume it’ll be a quick trial.”

Eddie snaps. He struggles against the handcuffs, metal biting into his skin. Steve’s got to be fucking kidding.

“I don’t fucking trade in that shit. I am not that.”

Steve shrugs. He reaches into his breast pocket and holds out a polaroid.

It’s a man on his knees, hard and in restraints. In the foreground is the red blur of someone else’s cock. Come streaks his face and drips from his open mouth.

Eddie flushes despite himself.

“You,” Steve says, just as calm and unbothered as before, “or whoever works for you, take pictures of a homosexual nature and sell them all across the Midwest. That’s a form of human trafficking, believe it or not.”

Steve turns the photo around, staring down at it.

Eddie wonders if Steve’s about to show his true colors.

But he just keeps chewing, tucking the photo back in his pocket.

He says, “People have been dumped in ditches for less.”

“…So is this where I look to see if you’re hiding a shovel behind your back, or?”

Steve snorts. “I don’t give a shit about that kind of thing.”

It’s mental whiplash. Steve takes a small step into his space, until he’s standing right between Eddie’s knees. Until Eddie is forced to spread his thighs to make room.

It’s overbearing, being watched like this.

“Police intimidation was never really my thing, so if you could please?” Eddie jerks his chin towards the still-open door of the cell. “Isn’t your buddy gonna wonder why my cage is open?”

“He went home for the night.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I told him to.”

He steps forward again. He adjusts his stance, standing wide. His outer thighs are pressed against the inside of Eddie’s, and Eddie pointedly keeps his head turned, eyes on the wall.

And he bites his fucking tongue.

“Would you prefer it was closed?”

“With you about to do what I think you’re about to, no.”

“What do you think I’m about to do?”

A dry, humorless laugh escapes him.

“So, how’d you start? Was it hooking on the Circle in Indy? Or was it here in town? Was it during high school? Or was it just the drugs until you realized you could sell bodies too?”

“Jesus, I don’t sell people. For fuck’s sake, people have needs. I provide them those needs, okay? Not everybody wants to risk going into the back room in some seedy sex shop to get their fix. They’re only pictures. And cruising isn’t for everybody.”

“It’s evidence.”

“It’s just people living their lives! Christ, don’t you have your favorite fucking pornos? I bet you loved Beaverly Hills Cop. Bet you jacked it ‘till you were raw—”

“How do you think I got the polaroid?” Steve asks. He steps even wider and Eddie’s tight jeans strain as his thighs are forced even further apart. The hand returns to his face, this time, Steve’s thumb smooths down his cheek to his lips. “Why do you think I sent my guy home?”

And Eddie’s mouth shuts, voice trailing off.

It doesn’t exactly make sense.

“This is a trap,” he says when Steve’s hand is gone. “You want me locked up.”

“Look around, Munson. Where do you think you are?”

“You don’t just want me locked up, you want me gone.”

“I don’t want you dead in a ditch, if that’s what you think.”

“If you think I think so little of you, then you’d be right.”

“That’s not fair. Why?”

“You’re a cop.”

Steve blows another bubble.

Then Steve gets on his knees, undoes Eddie’s belt and fly, and grabs his dick.

Eddie flinches, bucks his hips.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fu—

Steve fists his soft flesh for a while. Long enough it would be embarrassing under normal circumstances. Eddie is frozen. All he can do is breathe, and even that he’s barely managing.

But then Steve opens his plush lips and takes the entirety of Eddie into his mouth.

It’s—he groans despite himself once Steve’s made him fully hard—it’s not Steve Harrington’s first time sucking dick.

He pops off, lips pink and shining, cheeks flushed. Eddie’s twitching where he’s jutting free of his jeans and underwear.

“Did—did you swallow your gum?” Eddie asks when he’s only just caught his breath.

Steve’s tongue bulges his cheek. He turns away and spits the gum somewhere on the floor.

“Ah.”

Then he smirks and starts using his hands. He uses one to squeeze Eddie’s balls while the other focuses on the head. Uses too much pressure. It hurts, but it feels too good.

He starts rocking his hips incrementally and that’s when Steve leans in close, within range, parts his lips and displays his soft pink tongue. He aims Eddie’s cock for his mouth and the image alone has him falling over the edge. His come splatter Steve’s waiting tongue, his cheeks. Steve steers him so that some sprays across his neck too.

There’s a few drops of milky white on his uniform collar.

Steve stands and as he starts pulling at his own belt and fly, Eddie tries to do the fucking math. He can’t reconcile the man before him arresting him, threatening him with twenty years behind bars, as the same one licking his come from his lips.

He’s back. A hand tangles in Eddie’s hair and roughly yanks his head back.

“Open your mouth.”

Eddie does not.

Steve’s eyes are flat, the flush sitting pretty on his cheeks. “Open your fucking mouth, Munson. Or I call it in right now, get your whole operation shut down by morning. You don’t want to risk all your people, do you?”

He can’t. He just can‘t.

He opens his mouth.

Steve smiles before he spits. It hits warm and weird on Eddie’s tongue a second before Steve’s mouth crashes against his own. He bites, draws Eddie’s blood. Forces him to swallow the taste of himself.

Steve pulls back, lips spotted red. He licks them again and Eddie feels himself floating.

“A drug lord with a moral code.” He runs his thumb over his own lips. “Funny.”

He reaches back down, other hand still tight in the curls at Eddie’s scalp, and stuffs his thumb inside his mouth. Presses down on Eddie’s tongue.

He gags a little. Steve pushes further in, tells him, “Suck, Munson.”

Eddie floats, feels high. Steve squeezes and his neck bends back even farther. The angle and pressure at his neck make it hard to get air. He needs to breathe, but Steve is regulating it. Rationing it.

He releases him all at once and Eddie whips back forward, head hanging, starts coughing.

He’s hard again.

When he looks back up, actually shocked at himself, he sees those flat eyes take him in all over again.

“Sit up.” When Eddie doesn’t obey right away, Steve pushes at his chest until there’s room for him to sit, bare ass against Eddie’s cock. He moans more out of confusion than pleasure. He doesn’t understand what’s happening or why. He doesn’t understand that it’s Steve Harrington doing this.

He doesn’t understand why it feels so fucking good.

Steve’s hole is slick when the head of his cock finds it. His mind supplies spit, probably before he bucks his hips on instinct, wanting inside, wanting to trade some of the confusion and pain he’s been given back to Steve. Steve bears down, hands steadying them both on Eddie’s thighs as he sinks down.

He’s done this before. He has to have done this before. There’s no way he hasn’t. He takes Eddie too easily. His body opens up like he did this not even a day ago.

But god, he’s still so tight once he’s fully seated.

Steve rides him like that, his back to Eddie’s chest, ass rolling in steady waves atop Eddie’s hips. He tries to gain what purchase he can, gain some ground, throw Steve for a loop. But he can’t do much besides take the body moving so torturously around him. Withstand it. He wants to up the pace. He wants it to be over. He wants it to take longer.

He wants his fucking hands free.

“Uncuff me.”

“W-what?”

Steve’s not the picture of composure either where he holds himself up, neck bent and his head down. He’s trying to keep the sounds in, but they still slip out. Eddie can’t see his expression from where he is, but he wants to. He wants to push Steve off him, get him on the floor, and thrust right back in.

Eddie takes a moment and throws his hips up. Steve makes his loudest sound yet, hands spasming stiff against his thighs. He does it again and his cock slips free. Steve stumbles forward a step before he straightens up.

He doesn’t spare Eddie a glance as he walks behind the chair, as the keys jangle. One handcuff slides free, but Eddie hardly cares. He stands, cuff slapping at the chair before he’s up and got Steve against the wall.

They hold each other’s eyes, both breathing hard. He can feel Steve hard against his bare skin where his pants have ridden down. Can feel hot breath puff against his face. Can’t tell what’s going through Deputy Sheriff Steve Harrington’s head on a quiet Saturday night.

Eddie spins him around, spits onto his fingers and roughly pushes them inside Steve’s hole. He groans, forehead falling against the cement as Eddie fingers him. Then he’s removing his fingers and taking only a breath to line up before he pushes back in all in one go. It punches the breath out of the body against him. He closes his eyes, hates himself, and does what feels good.

It only takes a few thrusts before he’s coming inside Steve. Steve’s ass is urgent against the bowl of his pelvis, tries to take more than Eddie can give, selfish and unheedful in the same way he’s been since he first slapped cuffs on him. Eddie’s growing soft, and he slips out without even trying. Come follows, spilling hot onto the floor.

Steve stays where he is, even as Eddie steps back. He needs space. He needs a fucking lawyer.

“I didn’t come.”

“I don’t care.”

Eddie rights himself, buttons his fly, zips up his jeans. He runs his hands through his hair. He’s shaking.

Steve is finally moving. He’s leaning back against the wall when Eddie finally looks at him again.

“Get these off of me and we can call it square,” he says, holding the hand still with the cuff around it out in Steve’s direction. He shakes it when Steve doesn’t immediately move. “I’ll let it go. I won’t say a word. This never happened, alright? You got whatever the fuck it was you wanted, so just let me go.”

“I never said I’d let you go.”

“I—come on, don’t be a dick.”

Steve pushes away from the wall, his flagging dick still hanging out of his pants. He shoves Eddie back. Does it again.

“Steve. I told you I’d let this go. Don’t do something stupid.”

“Please. The only person worse than me in a fight in school was you—”

Eddie punches him in the face. His nose doesn’t break, but Eddie certainly tried.

When Steve gets his footing back, when he’s locked back on Eddie, his eyes are bright, alive for the first time all night.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it.”

Steve swings and Eddie dodges. He doesn’t fucking get it, why Steve is doing this. It isn’t like the guy is drunk.

Steve lands a hit to his shoulder, a truly bad punch. Eddie hits back, harder and faster because in the years since high school he’s learned how to fight when he needs to.

And he knows tonight is different. Raw. It’s in the way Steve hits different, hits stranger every single time. It goes from just some fight to something desperate. Something dangerous.

There’s voices, a commotion, metal banging against metal. But he can’t pay any attention to it because Steve is still on him like a damn dog, determined to fight until Eddie simply doesn’t fight back.

He pushes and shoves and hits and just when Eddies realizes how close the voices are, he loses his focus. Steve trips him, gets him on the floor, falling against the wall.

Then Steve throws himself to the floor, dick still hanging from his fucking pants that are dropping loose around his hips.

The voices cut off. There’s gasps. The leather-slick pull of a gun from a holster.

And Eddie looks from the trainee cop with his two pig buddies, to Steve on the floor.

And Steve is pointing at him, brown eyes bright.