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“How many horny motherfuckers we got out here tonight, huh?” Eddie called to the crowd, grinning nastily as the crowd roared in response. He whipped his hair back from his face, readjusting his guitar with one hand, clutching the microphone tightly in the other. “Let’s see these people, turn on these lights.” Letting his guitar rest against his stomach, Eddie raised his arm, using it as a shield against the burning stage lights, using the moments break to take in the crowd and let the sweat cool and dry on his skin.
The crowd’s massive hair, each person teased and spiked, their hands reaching upwards and outwards, towards him, caught his eye. He leaned down closer, squinting. Just behind the front row, dead-centre, and being pressed in from all sides, Eddie saw them. Steve Harrington with his perfectly fluffy hair stood out like a sore thumb. Billy Hargrove stood beside him, only noticeable by the man he was with. Billy fit in, his mullet mane flowing, his curls bouncy and captivating.
Eddie grinned, pointing, and winked at the pair. Steve waved back, cheerily, dorkily. Ridiculous.
“Now I remember you people from last time, you motherfuckers like to party, is that true?” Eddie called out to the audience, crooning. He forced his eyes away from Steve and Billy, who stood, grinning back at him, arms raised like those around them. His drummer slammed down on the drums behind him, the crowd cheered in response. Eddie moved across the stage, leaning closer, over the edge.
“If you’re a freak than say, fuck yeah!” Eddie screamed, offering his microphone to the crowd. Unable to let the smirk fall from his face as the crowd roared back in response, a resounding, ‘Fuck Yeah!’ He caught Steve’s eye, his mouth open, screaming in response.
“I fucking knew it, I just fucking knew it.” Eddie sneered, moving back towards centre stage, the light following him as he moved. “I tell ya, we got a little song for ya, a song about having a good time. Lemme tell you this, do you know what a fucking quickie is, Hawkins?” The crowd cheered, Eddie couldn’t keep his eyes from Billy and Steve now. Their faces flush, bright red, practically glowing.
“You can have a lot of fun with a quickie, you know. I think a quickie would last about 5 minutes, what do you think, huh?” Eddie moved in close, crouching over the crowd, ruffling his hair, begging the breeze to cool him faster. “Little faster?” He asked, quirking his eyebrow. Steve avoided his gaze. Billy scrunched his nose, smirking still, mouthing, ‘Pervert.’
“How about around 30 seconds, is that time enough for ya?” Eddie tried again, enunciating on the final word, encouraging the crowds noise. Billy shook his head, grinning. Steve flipped him off, his head still down, eyes resolutely staring at the ground. Embarrassed. Eddie couldn’t help himself. The adrenaline of performing to this many people, every night, every weekend. Plus, the additional ‘performance enhancements’ he had been partaking in, and he knew to be coming soon, he couldn’t help but tease him.
The last time he, Steve and Billy were together thirty seconds had been more than enough.
“I think we can do it in about fucking 10 seconds, what do you think, huh?” Eddie finished, smirking, wishing he could reach down the stage and pull Steve’s eyes up to meet his. Instead, he winked once more at Billy, the girls around him growing giddy, mislead into thinking it was for them. Eddie didn’t mind. Plenty of him to go around.
“Let’s go boys!” Eddie cried, spinning on his heel, and bouncing into action, the music crashing in behind him. He settled the mic back into the holder, hoping the small microphone headset attached to his head was still functional, and began to play. The riff roaring and loud, obnoxious, and perfect, a little sloppy, if he’s honest. His fingers were tired, he was maybe a little too drunk already, but each note was like muscle memory now.
At the crest of his guitar solo, he paused, grinning down at the crowd. He couldn’t keep his eyes from the pair of them, jumping, screaming, beaming up at him.
“Come here boy,” he beckoned to crowd, to Steve and Billy, his bass guitarist playing the same two strings, vamping as always. Usually, he’d call him down, but not tonight. Tonight, he was determined Steve and Billy were coming up to him.
“I want you to meet somebody tonight, Hawkins.” Eddie cried, eyes widening, beckoning still at the pair one of which seemed reluctant to move. Desperately avoiding Billy’s hands shoving him forward. Eddie motioned to the security guards, gesturing to let them through. Billy pushed through first, reaching the barriers and hoisting himself across, the security guards working to keep the other fans at bay.
“This is Mr Billy Hargrove, say hello!” Eddie chirped, pulling the man onstage and guiding him centre stage. “And this is Mr Steve Harrington.” He added, as the reluctant Steve clambered on stage, face burning bright. He glared at Eddie briefly, before letting himself be steered to face the crowd, a small wave offered and returned with screams of approval.
“Now, these motherfuckers are Hawkin’s boys themselves, did you know that?” Eddie asked, slinging his arms around their shoulders, leaning into the microphone. He knew they could probably smell his breath, his sweat, the booze pouring out of him. He couldn’t remember the last time he drank water. “Did you know these boys are from Hawkins? Yeah?”
Steve and Billy exchanged looks across Eddie’s form. Equal parts confused and excited, nervous, and thrilled, and worried.
“Now I’ll tell you one thing about these boys.” Eddie beamed, leaning back, and admiring the pair, pulling the microphone from the stand once more and moving away, shoving the pair together. From side stage, he motioned for another guitar to be brought on stage, a bass. Eddie shrugged at his own bass player, mouthing, ‘Sorry’, before returning to the crowd. To his boys.
“They were voted two of the sickest, sleaziest, dirtiest motherfuckers in the world. Did you know that?” Eddie said, snarling into the microphone. He grabbed the bass guitar from the tech, alongside a bottle of Jack Daniels, offering the bass to Billy and the Jack to Steve with a wink. Billy slung the guitar over his shoulders, shaking out his hair from beneath the strap, letting his fingers rest on the strings and began to pluck the familiar two notes. Eddie’s own bass player faded out, disappearing side-stage. Grateful for the reprieve.
“Well, do you want them to get nice a sleazy for you tonight?” Eddie yelled, beaming at Billy, hand resting in the small of his back. The crowd roared in response. “Go get sick for ‘em boy.” Eddie cooed into Billy’s ear; microphone pressed to his lips, so the words echoed around the stage. The crowd screamed in return. Billy immediately fell into the familiar bass-solo he knew, he had practiced with Eddie seemingly countless times, years ago.
Steve watched, his nerves fading, heat flushing up his neck, clinging to the Jack Daniels bottle tightly around the neck. Eddie slung an arm around Steve’s shoulders, leaning in close as Billy gravitated towards the drummer, an old friend. The pair playing off each other, teasing. Eddie lifted the Jack Daniel’s bottle to Steve’s lips, cap already gone, forcing him to swallow. Tilting the bottom higher. As Billy crashed to the ground, rolling theatrically down the stage. Eddie missed this, missed his boys, touring with them, playing around with them. He let Steve stop drinking, pulling the bottle from his lips, and tapping his shoulder lightly as he coughed, glaring at Eddie.
He lifted the microphone once more, “Well we got a bass player down over here.” Eddie said, moving towards Billy, bottle held loosely between his thumb and forefinger. He stopped to stand over Billy, glancing down at him, lips quirked in a teasing grin as Billy lifted his hands up towards him. His face was sweaty, his mouth opened in a smile, his dark hair plastered to his cheeks and forehead, clinging to his neck.
“Aw fuck, it is Thursday night! You should be on your back already, what do you think, huh?” Eddie laughed, crouching down over Billy, his tongue poking out between his teeth as he took in his old friend. The crowds’ cheers were weaker, but still thundering.
“Now Billy Hargrove always likes to start the weekend of right,” Eddie said, beginning to stand from his crouch, Billy watching him, his own tongue slipping between his lips, wetting them. “And uh, he’s been on his back like this many times before, lemme tell you that.” Billy laughed, unheard by the crowd except for the front row, barking and rough and loud and dangerous and fuck did Eddie miss it.
“This usually does the fuckin trick, what do you think, huh?” Eddie crowed, holding the whiskey bottle out towards the crowd, giggling as Billy sprung to his feet dramatically, swiping the sweat from his eyes, the hair from his face. Steve moved in closer, his arm rested on Eddie’s other shoulder, decidedly drunk.
“Now, the thing is.” Eddie stalled, pulling the bottle out of Billy’s grasp, teasing him. “You want Billy to start this fucking party tonight?”
The crowd screamed. Not loud enough.
“Are you fucking ready for the weekend?”
Louder. But not enough. Behind him, the drummer kept beating against the kick bass and snare, rhythmically. He picked up the pace as Eddie lifted the mic to his mouth and Billy took the bottle from Eddie’s hand.
“You look pretty thirsty tonight, Hawkins.”
Billy and the drummer took their cues, lifting his arm and spinning the remaining contents of the bottle out amongst the crowd. Only two thirds full. When he was done, Billy lifted the bottle comically, letting the drops fall on his face and his outreached tongue. As though searching for snowflakes.
“Well,” Eddie crooned, “looks like we need some more.” He turned to face Steve, who had disappeared briefly, returning with another full bottle, cap already disposed of.
“Come on Jack boy,” Eddie laughed, beckoning Steve once more, watching as he drank from the bottle quickly, poking out his tongue as he handed the bottle back to Eddie who passed it along to Billy. “He takes care of all our Jack Daniels.”
The crowd screamed as Billy offered another few sprays of whiskey into the crowd, “Go get a little over there, boy.” Eddie directed, pulling Steve in close to his side by his waist, letting him lean heavily against him. Billy followed his direction, swishing the whiskey into the crowd, before turning to him, batting his eyelashes. Always so dramatic and yet Eddie couldn’t pull his eyes away from those long lashes, brushing against his cheek, the way they framed his bright blue eyes.
“You want the rest?” Eddie said, smirking, teasing. Billy nodded, the bottle once again down to two-thirds empty. Eddie turned to face the crowd again, feeling neglectful though his every word was captured and sent out, echoing, booming, across the stadium.
“Do you think he deserves a drink tonight?” He asked. The crowd’s response was loud. But Eddie knew it could be louder. He wanted them to howl for his boys.
“Okay, why don’t you do me a favour tonight. I want you to say: ‘FUCKING DOWN IT BILLY!’” The crowd screeched in back, Eddie shook out his hair, clicking his tongue as he did so. “Well, no. You gotta be a little fucking ruder than that tonight. I want you to scream: ‘FUCKING DOWN IT BILLY!’”
The crowd, voice together as one, booming, answered his call. Eddie beamed. He turned to Billy; his left arm still tightly wound around Steve’s side. “That’s the fucking way to do it!” He jerked his head upwards at Billy, his teeth glinting, “Okay! Go boy.”
Billy tilted his head back, swirling the bottle in his hand and creating a vortex within the glass, the liquid pouring down his throat. Eddie could feel his mouth salivating as he watched Billy’s throat move, under pressure, chugging the whiskey as it tumbled down his throat. He knew that burn. He couldn’t wait for that burn. But he wished he could be holding Billy’s neck, feel each movement of his Adam’s Apple as he gulped.
“GO!” He cried, giddy, the drums picking up pace, the crowd cheering loudly. Only slowing as Billy lowered the bottle. He watched as Billy swiped his mouth with the back of his hand and moved in close to Billy. Taking the proffered bottle.
“Now, I’m feeling a little thirsty tonight too.” Eddie said, passing Steve to Billy who held him close, the pair clinging to each other, dizzy and buzzing. He prowled across the stage. “Do you think I deserve a drink, Hawkins?”
The crowd was deafening. Eddie laughed, gleefully into the microphone. “Okay! Do the same for me now, say: ‘FUCKING DOWN IT EDDIE!’”
Like a charm, like a dream, their voices fell in around him, as loud as they had been all night. Louder even.
“Oh, I think they mean it, boys. I think they really do.” He leaned back body fluid, loose, catching Billy and Steve’s eyes. They nodded. Billy smirking, unsteady slightly. Steve gaining his sea-legs, switching to holding Billy stable. Eddie redirected his attention to the crowd once again, “I heard everybody down here, were you saying it up here tonight?” He held the microphone out once more, the answer quieter but impressively loud considering their distance. Eddie quirked his head, a guilty smile on his lips as he began to swirl the remaining half of the whiskey in the bottle, preparing himself for the burn to come.
“Okay, boys. Let’s start this fucking rock and roll fiasco.” He cried before tilting his head back, beginning to strum on his guitar the continuing note of the song they interrupted, the drums steadily thumping in the background. He could see his bass player, edging back onto the stage. He poured the whiskey down his throat, swallowing heavily, thickly, his eyes watering yet he was determined to suck the bottle dry. He raised the glass into the sky when he felt lightheaded, when the glass seemed light enough, and when he looked, it was empty.
“Well, the party’s begun, Hawkins! Are you ready to get fucking, get your, rocked your asses off!” Eddie slurred, screamed, into the microphone. He was bleary eyed, hands still moving quickly, assuredly over the strings. Fuck, he knew he shouldn’t do this. He knew it was a mistake and yet every time, he couldn’t help himself. He let his eyes wander to the two men he invited on stage, their eyes burning holes through his skin. He grinned lopsidedly at them, drunkenly. The crowd didn’t seem to mind, incensed by the chaos, the debauchery. They always were.
With a gasping breath, Eddie began screaming out the chorus, strumming harshly on his guitar. His bass player coming to stand beside him once more. In a breath, Eddie turned and sprinted, microphone held aloft and pressed it into Billy’s hand. “You guys know the words, right?” He asked, pressing a hand against the microphone perched on his cheek to give a modicum of privacy.
“Obviously,” Billy laughed, taking the microphone, and pulling it to his mouth, just in time for the screamed backing vocals. “And now Stevie does too.”
Eddie turned back to the crowd, screaming out the lyrics, his voice harsh and hoarse but in tune, miraculously. He turned back, as the backing vocals began again, giving him a break. “Meet me out the back after, watch from the side. Enjoy the riders.” Eddie waggled his brows, laughing and bounding across the stage to the other side, hands flying across the fret board, guitar screeching and growling under his deft fingers.
Fuck, he was good.