A Rockstars Motto (the brain on love) | Steddie

A Kiss For Good Luck

"Stevie, baby, I need my pick," Eddie said, guitar hanging over his torso, hair half pulled up in a ponytail, looking effortlessly pretty despite the humidity clinging to the air tonight. Steve pulled the chain up from around his neck and unclipped it to slide the pick off.

"Have a good show," he said, handing it off to Eddie with an encouraging smile. Eddie hooked his finger into Steve's belt loop and pulled him in until his stomach was pressed against his guitar, catching his lips in a kiss. Steve cupped Eddie's jaw, fingers brushing his hair, which was already a little damp with sweat. It would be drenched by the time he's done playing his show.

The garage they had set up to look like a decent venue was a part of a cabin, too far away from any other houses to garner complaints, but not so far away that you couldn't find the highway if you got lost in the woods. It belonged to Adam Fry, an older guy who Eddie met at one show or another. Steve knew he had a knack for business though, with a $3 entry fee and the kitchen rigged up like a concession stand, he'd be making decent money by the end of the night. A good percentage of which would go to Eddie and his band, a percentage that Steve and his own knack for business argued with him about until it was actually fair.

Adam supplied the cabin and took care of the money, but he let everyone else kind of roam free. Steve was a planner, and a worrier, so he had pairs of people posted at each corner, with flashlights and whistles who wouldn't let anyone into the woods. Eddie had teased him for it, but Steve kept saying he wouldn't be responsible for a murder.

"Kiss for good luck?" Eddie asked once they pulled away, holding his pick up. Steve leaned forward and kissed Eddie's pick, kissing his lips once more afterward just to seal the deal. Eddie was slow to release Steve's belt loop, grinning softly at him. "You gonna get a nice front row seat?" He asked.

"Are you going to serenade me?" Steve tilted his head.

"Always," his laugh lines deepened as he smiled, tugging Steve closer by the grip on his belt loop.

"Eddie, man, come on," Gareth called from the stage, causing a roar of applause behind them.

"Your audience awaits," Steve chuckled.

"You're the only audience I need, baby," he said, refusing to let go just yet.

"That was so sappy," Steve rolled his eyes, his stomach fluttering. "Go play, rockstar." He gently pushed until Eddie reluctantly let go, joining Gareth and Jeff on stage. Steve squeezed through the crowd to get to the front, watching Eddie smile with his mouth brushing the mic.

"Good evening, Hawkins. We are Corroded Coffin." A wave of screams and applause followed and Eddie smiled a little wider, looking effortless and ethereal. Steve stared up at him, the humidity and the anxiety melting away as soon as Eddie started strumming. He found himself in his music, slipping into someone who knows exactly who they are, exactly what their purpose in life is. It's raw passion and pure talent that Steve becomes enthralled by the longer he watches.

Hair dripping with sweat and buzzing with adrenaline, Eddie bounces between people, chatting with them like they've known each other their whole lives. Steve smiled absently as he glances at him every once in a while. He waits patiently, helping them pack up their gear, and clean up the garage of trash. He gets the money from Adam, counts it, and recounts it before splitting it up between Jeff, Gareth, and Eddie.

"Steve! Steve! Steve!" He yelled when Eddie grabbed his shoulders and spun him around to face a gray-haired man with a closed-mouthed smile and a charcoal gray suit. "This is Devon Marshal, tell him who you are, man," Eddie is smiling so wide it looks like it hurts.

"I'm Devon Marshal, I work for Park Records, we're interested in the band," the man introduced with an indulgent grin.

"Holy shit," Steve's smile drops into a downward pull of pure shock. "You're interested in signing them?"