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Neither Steve nor Jonathan could pinpoint the pivotal moment in their relationship that led to them ending in one another’s bed some nights, but they both knew when they’d both stopped trying to deny their need for physical touch, to try to justify or resist this kind of comfort when it was the only way they knew how to keep the nightmares at bay.
They’d wake up a tangled mess of limbs, more often than not with Jonathan hugging Steve from behind, careful not to break his stitches, or facing one another, faces so close but also too far.
At first, Jonathan hadn’t allowed himself to really look at Steve, part of him felt like it would be akin to succumbing to the temptation of taking a bite out of the forbidden fruit. That he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes away from Steve’s face if he caved in to that particular need. And he knew that it would only make him want more.
Anything that he could have really. Look at Steve all he pleased, touch him, keep him close, even let him play with his hair all he pleased.
And oh, wasn’t it so ironic that he’d once hated the older man’s guts. Resented him for being with the girl he’d once loved as much as the man now fast asleep next to him in his bed. They’d both gotten their hearts broken by Nancy, it had helped bring them closer together he guessed. But their love for her ran still fierce and strong, it had only morphed to one that bloomed out of shared trauma, reminiscence of late night stolen kisses and friendship.
Neither Jonathan nor Steve had believed they were allowed to touch. Not before that one night Jonathan had found Steve drunkenly trashing by the side of the road the night of Barb’s third death anniversary. It pained Jonathan that he would have forgotten about it hadn’t he had wiped a few stray tears away from Nancy’s cheeks prior to finding Steve that day.
He sometimes wondered if either one of them would ever get over their unfounded guilt over Barbara’s death. Jonathan sometimes felt guilty about it too. He’d eerily captured Barb’s last living moment without noticing that something terrible had happened to her. She’d looked lonely as the Demogorgon stood in her shadow, looming threateningly over her. She’d died alone and scarred, he only hoped that her death had been quick.
Jonathan felt guilty not having thought to check in on Steve, Barb had died in his pool, he and Nancy had been faced with her rooting body in the Upside Down, and if he knew that Steve couldn’t handle the loneliness of his empty home on a good day, he should have realized that this day would have been unbearable for the young man.
So, Jonathan had done what he knew best. Which was to pick the people he loved up, soothe them with words and touch of care and comfort. He was used to doing it for Joyce, Will, Argyle, had done it and still did it for Nancy, when she needed it.
He would do it for Steve too.
There probably wasn’t much that he wouldn’t do for him he’d realized in the same breath.
When Jonathan loved, it was unconditionally.
So, Jonathan had picked Steve up, brought him back home with him. It had been late enough at night that neither Will, El nor Joyce were still awake to question it. And if Hopper had had anything to say about him manhandling the drunken mess that was Steve to the safety of his bedroom, he’d kept it to himself. The frown on his face the only tell revealing his worry about them.
Jonathan had stripped Steve of his vest, told him to sit on his bed as he kneeled down to remove his mismatched shoes, which proved Jonathan’s suspicions. That Steve had drowned himself in booze before deciding that he couldn’t spend one more minute in the empty house that was suffocating him, unwilling to ask for the help he would have silently offered to anyone else in his position in a heartbeat.
Steve had kept a hand on Jonathan the whole time, burning him with his touch, grounding himself with it. He’d also grabbed his wrist urgently when Jonathan was about to head out of the bedroom with the mission to retrieve a cold glass of water and Tylenol pills for the pounding hangover headache that Steve would probably wake up to in the morning.
“I don’t want to be alone.” Steve’s voice had cracked, filled with a broken plea that Jonathan could never deny him.
The pained admission had shattered every bit of Jonathan’s heart. It was also the day he’d allowed himself to break his own promise.
To not let himself cave in to his desire to pull Steve close to him.
His arms had enclosed themselves around Steve’s trembling frame, and as the other man had melted against him, hiding his face in the crook of his neck like it had always belonged there, Jonathan had come to accept his own demise. Resigning himself to the fact that he was irredeemably and irrevocably screwed.
A lot of things had changed between them that night, but mainly they’d stopped denying one another’s touch. And suddenly, they were constantly touching, all over one another’s space.
The nature of their relationship hung between them like an unspoken question, but it had awakened a surprising realization between them. For all it was always easy for them to readily take care of others, it had been unsettling for both of them to suddenly see their care be reciprocated.
Taking care and being taken care of.
It was the most important aspect of their relationship and both of them were content with that.
Jonathan would come over to Steve’s house, make him dinner whilst Steve would complain about his day at Family Video or excitedly describe to him the new ad for rent that Robin had suggested him to take a look at. In return, Steve would indulge in Jonathan’s passion for photography, taking a whole afternoon to turn one of his guest bedrooms into a dark room for Jonathan to develop his photos there, and peeking curiously above his shoulder, admiring his work.
They were always touching. It had been casual at first, bumping their shoulders together, Steve putting his arm around his shoulders when they were seated on the couch, Jonathan squeezing his bouncing knee under the safety of the dinner table.
It had grown fonder, more tender though. Now Steve’s arm wasn’t simply thrown over Jonathan’s shoulder, he’d use it to pull him closer to his chest, placing his chin on the crown of Jonathan’s head, allowing a curious thumb to run up and down Jonathan’s arm, trace the skin at the crook of his neck, caressing and drawing circles on the point where his shoulder blades met.
Now, when Steve peered over his shoulder when he worked in the quiet of the dark room he’d set for him, his head rested on the meat of his shoulder, breath teasing the sensitive flesh of his neck. And it made Jonathan’s skin crawl with want . He wanted for Steve to bring his lips there, to leave kisses on the tender flesh of his neck. He wanted to trace Steve’s skin with his lips and open mouthed kisses too.
But neither one of them was ready for that yet.
Jonathan indulged in tender touch too. He loved it when Steve let him run his fingers through his soft hair, when he held him close at night, tips of his fingers tracing gently the other man’s jaw.
He knew he wasn’t imagining the invitation in Steve’s eyes, the silent plea for more. Neither one of them did anything about it though.
Not yet.
Jonathan had learned that Steve liked to be hugged from behind. Whether it be when completing random day chores or at night, in the comfort of their beds. And Jonathan was more than happy to provide him with that, fulfill that want.
He’d now woken up enough times facing Steve that he’d already cataloged every single one of his moles, creases on the skin of his face; the little scars that were the reminiscent reminders of the fights the other man had gotten into in the past years. That he’d survived, that he’d barely walked out alive from. Billy, the Russians, the Demobats, the fuckers from the government.
Part of himself felt ever so slightly guilty for the one scar above Steve’s brow. He’d been the one who’d inflicted it.
In retrospect, one could argue that Steve had asked for it. It had taken Jonathan a lot of time to forgive Steve for what he’d said that day, about Will, his family. It had been an easy bait.
Jonathan supposed that none of it mattered anymore though. They’d both grown past that.
Nearly dying for one another so many times that the words they’d said to one another, the puncheS they’d thrown at one another a few years ago seemed trivial. Neither one of them was that person anymore, and if their past selves were another’s antithesis, their current selves fit perfectly in one another’s arms.
And Jonathan wouldn’t have it any other way.
He loved that neither one of them shied away from physical affection anymore. That Steve didn’t need to ask for permission to run his fingers through Jonathan’s long hair whenever he felt like it, that Jonathan knew he was allowed to furrow his head on Steve’s strong chest whenever he wanted, that the day their lips would meet in the middle, neither one of them would be repulsed by it.
And it was only natural that that day came sooner rather than later.
One morning, Jonathan had woken up to Steve’s knuckles absentmindedly running up his spine, sending a wave of shivers through Jonathan’s body as big brown eyes scrutinizing the details of his face like Steve wanted to carve it in his memory.
Jonathan’s mind had been blinded with the simple desire of bringing Steve even closer to him, and he’d caved in without any second thoughts, closing his arms around Steve’s lean and muscular frame, pressing him closer, making every single part of their body connect in a way he been aware for a while that he so desperately needed.
Steve had gasped against his skin, the sensation driving Jonathan crazy for more. He hadn’t needed to ask though, Steve had slipped on leg between his thighs and pressed an open mouthed kiss against the sensitive skin of his collarbone, before being encouraged by the unconscious roll of Jonathan’s hips against him.
They’d both frozen at that, but before Jonathan could apologize for it, find the words behind it or even panic, Steve had finally removed his face from where he’d furrowed it in the safety of his collarbone, bringing it to Jonathan’s level as used one arm to propel himself upwards. His other hand found its way to Jonathan’s face, tracing the lines of his face ever so gently that it nearly brought him to tears, before gently tucking a stray strand of his hair behind his ear.
Steve’s face was reverent, pleading, and asking for permission.
I love you, it said.
They’d been saying it a lot. It had been silent confessions, carried through their actions rather than words, but it had always been there. An unspoken truth hanging in the air they breathed together.
Taking care and being taken care of in return. Something no one else had realized they’d also needed. But they’d found it in one another.
“I love you.” Jonathan breathed.
The confession rolled naturally on his tongue. The only permission Steve needed. And as he leaned in, Jonathan closed the distance between them, their lips meeting halfway.
It was hot, soft and tender.
Wet too, as unexpected tears had rolled down Steve’s cheeks, mingling with Jonathan’s own. The younger man raised a hand to wipe them away and, as their lips parted, Steve lowered himself on Jonathan, using his elbows to keep himself from crushing him with his weight but so that their foreheads could touch.
“I love you too.” he whispered against his lips. “I don’t think I can live without you.”
Jonathan’s heart swelled in his chest. It did that a lot whenever he was with Steve.
“Then don’t. You’ll have me as long as you’ll want me.”
And Jonathan meant it. He loved steadily, fiercely and unconditionally and it had always been easy to love Steve.
“Be careful what you promise me, Jonathan.” Steve snorted, albeit voice so fond it made Jonathan want to kiss him some more. So he did. "You’ll never get rid of me...”
It was a promise, both of them knew that.
“I could live with that.”