Unraveling & Raveling

Eddie sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, leaning back against your legs like you were the only solid thing left. His dark hair hung in a wild curtain around his face. Rings caught the light as he passed the joint up to you.

Those big brown eyes, usually full of chaos and laughter, had gone soft and almost reverent.

“My girl,” he murmured, voice already rough from the smoke. “My weird, brilliant, perfect girl.” He said it the way other people said prayers.

You took a slow hit, the burn bloomed warm in your chest. He watched the whole time, lips curling into that crooked, devoted smile, and when you passed it back he caught your wrist gently, thumb brushing the soft inside of it.

“You know I’d burn this whole shitty town down before I let anything touch you, right?” His voice stayed quiet and absolute. “You’re the only one who ever looked at me and didn’t flinch. Not once. You’re it. You’re the whole campaign.”

The high settled in slow and syrupy. Everything went soft around the edges: the cheap wood-paneled walls, the Dio and Iron Maiden posters, the cool press of his rings when he finally climbed onto the couch and settled between your knees.

He looked at you like you were something holy and slightly dangerous, then leaned in.

The first kiss was lazy, smoke still on both your tongues. He made a low sound in his throat when your fingers slid into his hair and tugged.

The second kiss went deeper, as he tasted like weed and peppermint gum and pure Eddie, feral and sweet at the same time.

His hands framed your face as if he was afraid you might disappear. “You drive me insane in the best way,” he breathed against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “My geeky little metalhead. Mine.”

The make-out turned messier after that, slow, open-mouthed kisses that grew hungrier. His rings dragged lightly down your sides as he pushed your shirt up just enough to feel skin.

He kissed the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the soft place under your ear, murmuring the whole time. “I’d go to the Upside Down for you, again. I’d fight Vecna bare-handed. I’d sit through a thousand hours of whatever nerd shit you want if it means I get to keep this. Keep you.”

You pulled him closer.

He went willingly, long limbs folding around you like armor. The high made everything feel liquid and golden, the press of his body, the soft drag of his tongue, the way his heartbeat hammered against your chest.

Every so often he broke the kiss just to look at you, eyes half-lidded and completely gone, and whispered something filthy and tender at the same time. “Christ, you drive me insane, my little moose. Fuck, want you so bad.”

He stayed there for a long moment, face tucked into the warm crook of your neck, breathing you in. One hand drifted under the hem of your shirt, thumb stroking absent circles over bare skin at your hip.

“Still with me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and wrecked. He lifted his head enough to catch your mouth again in a lazy, open kiss, all soft tongue and quiet hunger.

The same hand slid higher, palm spanning your ribs, then lower until his fingers found the waistband of your shorts.

He eased the button open, then the zipper. The metal teeth parted with a soft sound that felt too loud in the quiet trailer. His eyes stayed on your face while he pushed past the cotton of your underwear. He groaned quietly when he found you already slick.

“Look at you. So wet for me already.” His middle finger dragged through your folds in a single, unhurried stroke, gathering the wetness, then circled your clit with light, patient pressure. “That’s it. Just feel it. I’ve got you.”

He settled more fully between your legs, one knee braced on the couch, the other foot still on the floor, body curved over yours like a shield. His free hand stayed in your hair, stroking, while the one between your thighs worked you open.

Two fingers slid inside, slow and deep, curling just right on the way in. He watched every flicker of your expression.

“There she is, taking my fingers so sweet.” He pumped them in a lazy rhythm, knuckles dragging, rings cool against your inner thigh with every movement, the wet sound of it filled the trailer. “You feel that? How deep I am? How I’m the only one who gets to touch you like this?”

His thumb found your clit again, rubbing slow, firm circles in time with the thrust of his fingers. No urgency, just relentless, loving pressure.

He leaned down and kissed you through it, messy and open-mouthed, swallowing every soft sound you made.

When your breath hitched he slowed even more, fingers curling harder against that perfect spot inside you, thumb never stopping.

“Let go for me. I’ve got you. Always got you.” His voice was a rough, adoring rasp right against your ear. “Come on my fingers, sweetheart. Wanna feel you fall apart. Wanna watch you.”

The high stretched every stroke, every spark of pleasure blooming thicker and hotter. Eddie kept the same unhurried pace even as your thighs started to shake, even as your walls fluttered and clenched around his fingers.

He murmured more praise, more quiet vows, thumb circling, fingers pumping deep and steady until the pleasure finally crested.

You came undone around him with a broken whimper, hips rolling up into his hand, body locking tight.

He held you through every pulse, fingers still moving, slower now, gentler, drawing it out until you were trembling and oversensitive.

Only then did he ease them free, glistening in the low light. He brought them to his mouth without looking away from you and licked them clean, eyes half-lidded and completely gone.

“Perfect,” he whispered, leaning back in to kiss the corner of your mouth, soft and proud. “My perfect girl. Still mine.”

You shifted beneath him while he was still half-draped over you, lazy and satisfied. The high made every movement feel deliberate, like the air itself was thick. You pushed gently at his chest until he rolled onto his back on the worn couch, dark hair spilling across the cushion, rings glinting as he reached for you.

“Whatcha doin’, sweetheart?” His voice was already rough, eyes half-lidded and curious.

You answered by sliding down his body, hands trailing over the soft black fabric of his Hellfire shirt, then lower, popping the button of his jeans. The zipper followed as you tugged them down just far enough.

Eddie’s breath caught hard when you freed him, already half-hard from touching you, thickening further the second your fingers wrapped around him.

“Yeah,” he groaned, head tipping back. “That’s it. Use that pretty mouth on me.”

You leaned in and took him slow. The first drag of your tongue along the underside made his hips twitch. The moment you sealed your lips around the head and sank down, a broken sound tore out of him.

His hand found your hair, not pushing, just holding, rings cool against your scalp as he watched every inch disappear.

“Jesus Christ. Look at you. Taking me so good.” His voice was pure wrecked devotion. “That’s it. Just like that. Slow. Wanna feel every second of it.”

You kept the pace lazy, matching the high: long, wet slides of your mouth, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing just enough to make his thighs tense.

Spit slicked him, made every downward stroke easier, deeper. Eddie’s free hand gripped the back of the couch like he needed something solid to hold onto. Every time you hummed around him he cursed softly, hips rolling up in tiny, desperate thrusts he couldn’t quite control.

“Gonna make me lose it,” he warned, voice shaking. “Your mouth is perfect. Gonna come down that pretty throat if you keep—”

You didn’t stop.

You took him deeper, one hand stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach, the other resting on his hip, grounding him the same way he always grounded you, and when he finally broke it was with a long, low groan, fingers tightening in your hair as he spilled across your tongue in hot pulses.

You swallowed every drop, slow and thorough, until he was trembling and oversensitive, murmuring your name like a prayer.

You crawled back up his body while he was still catching his breath. His hands immediately found your hips, helping you straddle him.

The head of his cock, still wet from your mouth, still half-hard, nudged against your soaked entrance. You sank down in one long, lazy glide, both of you exhaling hard at the stretch and the heat.

“Fuck me,” Eddie whispered, eyes locked on yours. His hands slid up under your shirt, palms spanning your waist, thumbs stroking. “Ride me, sweetheart. Nice and slow. Wanna feel you for hours.”

You set the pace the high demanded: rolling hips, rising and falling in deep, unhurried strokes that dragged every inch of him against the places that still pulsed from his fingers.

The couch creaked softly beneath you, Eddie’s rings pressed into your skin as he held on, guiding but never forcing, letting you take exactly what you needed.

Every time you sank down he met you with a shallow thrust upward, the wet sound of it filling the trailer.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, voice low and reverent. “Using me just like that. Feel how deep I am? How I’m all yours?” One hand slipped between your bodies, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing lazy circles in time with your movements. “Come on. Take another one. Wanna watch you come on my cock this time.”

You rode him through the thick, golden haze: slow rolls of your hips, the slide of skin, the soft slap of your bodies, his praise never stopping.

His other hand stayed on your thigh, squeezing, grounding, fiercely possessive.

When the second orgasm finally rolled through you it was deeper, longer, your walls fluttering and clenching around him until he followed with a broken groan, spilling inside you in hot, pulsing waves while you kept moving through it, milking every last tremor from both of you.

Only when you finally stilled, still seated deep, chests rising and falling together, did Eddie pull you down against him. His arms wrapped around you tight, face buried in your hair, voice a sleepy, devoted rumble against your ear.

The record needle kept scratching softly in the quiet. Outside, Hawkins slept on, none the wiser.