Steve Harrington (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
haplesshairpile) wrote2020-08-31 03:01 pm
haplesshairpile) wrote2020-08-31 03:01 pm
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Robin having a girlfriend means that sometimes Steve has to hear giggling coming from her bedroom, while actively trying to make his traitorous brain not think about what they might be doing in there. Robin is his best friend and that's gross. But also— girls making out.
Yes, he knows that he's terrible. He's working on it.
But sometimes Robin having a girlfriend means that Steve gets to have the whole apartment to himself, which mostly just means that there will be no one around to bitch at him for not wearing a shirt in his own home. So that's what he's doing now—lounging in all his shirtless gross manness on the living room sofa in nothing but a pair of gray basketball shorts.
He's kind of bored, actually. Just as he begins to think about possibly violating the shared communal space with a jerk off session on the couch, there's a knock on the door. Terrible timing, but at least they didn't wait until he got started.
It's isn't too late in the evening, but a little past when he would expect drop by visitors who don't text first, so he rolls off of the couch with the assumption that it's Robin on the other side.
"Forget your key again, dingus?" Steve asks as he pulls the door open, only to stop short when he sees that it's actually Maeve standing in the hall, which makes his chest sort of seize up the way it does when he sees her lately. Some people might call it butterflies. Steve is resolutely not one of those people. He looks at her and then down at his bare chest and back again, wondering if this is what Victorian maidens felt like when they accidentally flashed an ankle.
"Oh, you're not Robin," he says dumbly, pausing for a moment before stepping aside to let her in. "Come on in."
Yes, he knows that he's terrible. He's working on it.
But sometimes Robin having a girlfriend means that Steve gets to have the whole apartment to himself, which mostly just means that there will be no one around to bitch at him for not wearing a shirt in his own home. So that's what he's doing now—lounging in all his shirtless gross manness on the living room sofa in nothing but a pair of gray basketball shorts.
He's kind of bored, actually. Just as he begins to think about possibly violating the shared communal space with a jerk off session on the couch, there's a knock on the door. Terrible timing, but at least they didn't wait until he got started.
It's isn't too late in the evening, but a little past when he would expect drop by visitors who don't text first, so he rolls off of the couch with the assumption that it's Robin on the other side.
"Forget your key again, dingus?" Steve asks as he pulls the door open, only to stop short when he sees that it's actually Maeve standing in the hall, which makes his chest sort of seize up the way it does when he sees her lately. Some people might call it butterflies. Steve is resolutely not one of those people. He looks at her and then down at his bare chest and back again, wondering if this is what Victorian maidens felt like when they accidentally flashed an ankle.
"Oh, you're not Robin," he says dumbly, pausing for a moment before stepping aside to let her in. "Come on in."
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Plucking a few free, she wipes her chest clean, then balls up the tissue and drops it on the floor, figuring she'll grab it when she leaves. Then she turns toward Steve, curling up on her side. She'll go soon. She has to, she can't stay here, it'd be too weird. It'd seem too much like she expects something from him and she doesn't want to be that girl. She never likes being that girl.
But it's nice for the moment. Just to stay.
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"And to think that I was just about to jerk off before you showed up," he murmurs fondly, pressing a lazy kiss to her skin. "Like something out of my dreams."