head in the clouds, feet off the floor

Tonight is decidedly warm, laid-back, and filled to the brim with laughter. Drinks abound, snacks even more so, the new Metallica record spinning in the background at a sensible purr. Jeff brought it, you think, or maybe Hal, or Allison—you’re a little too buzzed to remember. It’s a bit of a special occasion. This evening was Corroded Coffin’s last show of the year, and afterwards, the band and a handful of its supporters made their way to your apartment. Earlier this afternoon, you and Eddie went on a grocery run in preparation, stocking up on snack and drink and booze requests—going just a little overboard on the latter. 

It’s Eddie’s fault, really. He’s a total enabler. Liquor's always been your poison, but you know how to keep it classy. A glass of cheap wine with dinner now and then, no more than two drinks when you go out with the girls—usually. It’s only with Eddie and the promise he brings of safety and doting that you start to hear that little devil in your ear, convincing you to let your hair down and live a little. When he caught you sneaking another pack of those wine coolers you like so much into the cart, piled on top of what was already more than enough alcohol to accommodate the ten-odd people that would be in attendance, he dropped straight into Wayne-mode—an instinctive, ever-endearing mimic of his uncle’s gruff parenting that occasionally overcomes him when you're doing something naughty. 

He scolded “Hey!” and tried to slap you on the wrist. “Put that back.”

“I don’t wanna,” you argued, shedding your maturity accordingly. You like it when he gets all stern.

He raised his eyebrows pointedly, eyeing you with an unusual lack of humor. “We’ve got more than enough here already,” he insisted. “You act like I’m made of money.”

“Why else should I keep you around?”

By the look on his face, he was one more strike away from bending you over his knee. You smiled your brightest smile and wrapped both arms around one of his. 

“I'm kidding, Eddie, baby,” you assured him. He might’ve thought he was footing the bill entirely, but you’d find some way to force your half into his possession—even if it meant hiding it in one of his drawers or a pair of discarded pants to make him think he’d misplaced it himself. “I just want a few extra to keep in the fridge, is all.”

He tilted his head at you, exasperated—seeing right through your little act, your blinking, angelic eyes—but ultimately gave in. He’s weak for you and you both know it, and even when he pretends to be annoyed and inconvenienced (the mild concern is typically authentic), Eddie’s never shrunk away from babysitting duty. You can see right through him, too. He might enjoy it even more than you do.

And now, your master plan is pretty close to completion. As the dutiful co-host that you are, you waited until everyone was settled in—spread throughout kitchen and living room, drinks in hand and snacks on display—before even popping the lid on your first bottle. And the lovely, horrible influences that are Allison, Beth, and Scooter cheered you on tirelessly until the last drop of your fourth rolled easily down your throat and your inebriated mind began, as it usually does, to lust for the company of your favorite boy.

Eddie’s been planted on the couch for as long as he's been convinced to stop buzzing around like the hyperactive service worker that he is and take a load off.

You lean yourself against the wall just outside the kitchen, head tilted askew, watching him tell his cute little story with his cute little face. He goes on and you let him, chewing on your nail as you wait until he finishes, and his friends laugh, and he looks so comfortable and confident basking in the energy and taking a lazy swig from his beer that it makes you wanna squish the crap out of him.

“Eddie,” you call out to summon his attention, drawn out and fluctuating leisurely in pitch.

He glances in your direction and then breaks out in a gleaming smile, resettling himself on the couch, straightening his spine. “Oh, there she is,” he murmurs with affection, and he knows exactly what you’re looking for. He smacks both palms down on his wide-spread thighs a couple times and then opens his arms eagerly, flicking his fingers in encouragement. “Come to daddy!”

With a delirious giggle, you take off towards him, skirting precariously around the coffee table and, intentionally or otherwise, you crash-land straight into his lap.

“Jesus,” he breathes out with a laugh like you knocked the wind out of his lungs. He keeps his arms up as you awkwardly make yourself comfortable, waiting until you’re settled to drape them securely around you. “There you go. Nice and tipsy, now, aren’tcha?”

“I’m really tipsy, Eds.”

“Yeah, you are.” He gives you a crinkly smile and a nice little pat on the butt.  “Sure smells like it.”

Humming pleasedly, you wrap clumsy arms around his neck and rest your cheek against his head. “You’re so comfy, y’know that? I dunno why I don’t sit on you all the time.” On impulse, you smush a kiss into his hair, and then snuggle in even deeper, sniffing that nice conditioner you’ve bullied him into sharing with you. It’s a good thing you did, too—his hair is like velour against your cheek.

Eddie giggles at all the affection, tugging lightly to readjust your arms. “You’re kinda smothering me, sweet pea.”

“What the hell did he do to deserve this?” That was Gareth’s voice, you think, and it makes you giggle.

“It’s just what happens when you’re in a band,” Eddie explains to his bandmate, smug as can be. “Drives ‘em wild, y’know? Can’t beat her off me with a stick.”

To prove his point, you push back to grab his face and plant a big, wet kiss on his smiley cheek. You can tell that it startles him but he suppresses it, smiling even wider, the skin beneath your glossy lipstick print turning pink. He's so goddamn cute, you could eat him for dinner.

It builds up suddenly into a bout of violent affection and you can't resist the urge to wrap your arms around him even tighter and squeeze. Eddie's eyes blow open wide just before his face smashes into your chest, and the collision muffles his cry of alarm. Almost immediately, he starts to struggle cartoonishly—shaking and thrashing his limbs like you're suffocating him, his smothered grunts and groans buzzing ticklish against your skin and making you cackle, but eventually, with absolute instancy, he goes limp.

“...Uh oh,” you say as you release him, watching him slump back against the couch—eyes closed, mouth hung open. You poke him in the cheek a couple times to no response and throw a glance towards Jeff on the other end of the couch, stifling another giggle. “...I think he died.”

“Finally,” Jeff quips. “I got first dibs on Sweetheart.”

Before you can ask if he means you or the guitar, Eddie suddenly reanimates with a deep, booming roar that morphs into the words, “Over my dead body!” and it catches you so off guard that you jump out of your skin with a squeal.

“Eddie!” you shriek in outrage. You stretch your hand over his face and give it a vigorous shake in retaliation, and he accepts the punishment for a few seconds before gently tugging your wrist away.

“Sorry, babe,” he says, definitely not sorry at all and also totally laughing at you. “I had to safeguard my personal property.”

As the chatter goes on, a little beyond your faculties to really participate in, you busy yourself with bothering your chaperone. The problem is, Eddie adjusts to all of it seamlessly, keeping up with the conversation, telling entire stories unphased even as you climb all over him like a koala, playing with his hair, his ears; tugging and folding his shirt collar, poking and pinching all over his face, rubbing your cheek into him like a cat. He even has the presence of mind to sporadically tug your overly-tight skirt down to prevent any wardrobe malfunctions. It’s hilarious, but also sort of infuriating. You’re sitting pretty in his lap, slathering him with all the attention he practically begs you for most of the time, and he’s hardly giving you an ounce in exchange.

Thankfully, in this time of desperate need, your inebriated mind comes up with the perfect remedy. Giggling to yourself, you brush his hair out of the way, nuzzle your way into his warm, defenseless neck, and plant your mouth on him in a messy, feverish kiss. Eddie trips over his words at the feeling, and you giggle again at your own mischief before latching onto him, sucking on his pulse point like a hungry vampire. 

He stiffens beneath you from head to toe, choking out a series of undignified little noises punctuated by an awkward chuckle. “Oh-kay, alright, that’s— Sweetheart, we have company.” 

A couple others laugh too; someone does a wolf-whistle. Humming your delight, you only suck harder, and Eddie stifles an odd grunt. He tries to ease your mouth away from him, and the gentle pressure of his hands has you digging your teeth into his skin even harder.

At first, he tries to just do it again—adjust and adapt. But the feeling of it must be too distracting, all-consuming, and, just as you hoped, it forces him to withdraw from the conversation as well.

“Ow,” he complains, now well and truly squirming beneath you; trying to keep his voice down within your little bubble. “You're— That actually kinda hurts. Oh— Okay, I got it, message received. You're feeling— fuck— neglected, s’that right?” 

“Mhm,” you hum into his skin. 

“I'm sorry,” he says, pushing at you a little harder. “I swear, you have my full— Jesus, my full attention, now, honey, so if you would please just—”

Finally, you detach from him with a wet pop so loud that your chest swells with pride. You reel back to survey the damage and your eyes bug out of your head.

“Oh no.” You raise your hands to cover your mouth as you meet his questioning stare.

“Christ,” Eddie hisses, retracting one hand to poke at his wound. “What, is it bad?”

It really is. You've left a deep, dark splotch on his hopelessly pale neck—a perfect impression of your mouth, indented with teeth marks, already looking purplish. 

“You're gonna be so mad at me,” you say, shaking with laughter.

The glare on his face couldn’t even scare a toddler. “I'm already mad at you.”

“No, you're not,” you insist, chewing on your lip in mischief. And leaning in beside his ear, in your best whisper, you tease: “I think you’re…a little bit happy to see me.”

You aren't totally sure it's him you're feeling—that little hint of pressure beneath your thigh—but pulling back and watching Eddie's face go taut and authentically annoyed confirms it. Oh, yeah. You're gonna be in huge trouble this time.

“S'okay,” you assure him with a wide, self-satisfied smile, patting him consolingly on his chest. “...It's natural, Eddie, and I won't tell anybody.” Ignoring his red-cheeked scowl, you place your hand on his cheek and give it a light shove that makes him click his tongue. “Put your face over here.” 

“What now?”

“I gotta do the other side, so it's even.”

He can't get another word out before you dive right back in, pressing your mouth to the other side of his neck, feeling his pulse pound against your lips, and his fingers squeeze a dull ache into your hips.

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.”

-

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About a month after Robin brought you into the friend group, you invited your roommate - Brenda - to tag along to a party he and Steve were hosting. At some point Steve, you, Brenda and Eddie were talking when you excused yourself to grab another drink. As if she had been waiting for the opening, the second you left, Eddie watched as Brenda swopped in and sank her teeth into Steve. Safe to say, they’ve been inseparable ever since. 

Now the thing is, Eddie does blame Steve — Brenda’s objectively hot. She’s just a bit of a bitch. Not that he actually knows her well enough to say that. But he figures she had to know you were into Steve. Eddie certainly did. He clocked that shit the moment Robin introduced you. 

The saddest past is Steve probably would’ve fallen for you. Eddie’s quite sure of it. Honestly, he’s not sure many people wouldn’t. You just didn’t have a fighting chance, the second you let Brenda the barracuda in the circle. 

And at first, Eddie sympathized. But there was only so much of that shit Eddie could watch before it became cruel punishment. So, he decided to intervene. And sure, maybe the idea was a little self serving. But who was he if not a gentleman to offer you the option? 

Eddie had just finished a blunt outside with Gareth and Jeff, when he pushed back into the crowded living room. The lights were fucking with his eyes, too bright after the dark outside. For a second, he just let them adjust. As the room came into focus, the only thought looping in his mind was that the parties were getting a little out of a hand lately. He stepped over crushed cans, and empty bottles weaving through people he only half recognized as he made his way toward the kitchen.

He spotted you in the corner, back against the counter, sipping a drink by yourself. He pushed his way through the last stretch of people, barely dodging someone swinging their arm out wide with their cup.

“C’mon man,” Eddie muttered, brushing past then as he finally reached the kitchen. He grabbed a beer from the fridge before settling across from you. “Mind if I join?”

“No at all,” you said, smiling a little into your drink. 

“So, what’s the verdict?” He asked, cracking the can open. “You having fun tonight?” 

“I am.” 

“You sure? From here, it looks a little like you’re sulking?”

“Definitely not sulking. I am a little disappointed I missed the show though. Steve said you adn the band played a few songs earlier.” 

Eddie had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the mention of Steve’s name. 

“Yeah.. it was a good one. But probably a mistake looking at the state of this place.” 

“Fair enough.” 

“Speaking of Harrington, you seen him around?” 

“Not for awhile. He and Brenda went upstairs like right after we got here.” 

“Gotcha,” he said taking another sip. “Can I level with you?” 

“Of course.”

“You’re into him, right?” 

“Steve?” You scoffed, jaw dropped like what he’d said was ridiculous. Which threw him a little. 

“Well yeah… I’ve seen the way you look at him.” 

“Eddie, what the fuck are you talking about?” 

“No need to play dumb, sweetheart. Whenever we’re all together, you’re always sorta watching him. And every time, he has his tongue halfway down Brenda’s throat.” 

A laughed escaped you, that ridiculous loud sort of laugh you always give when Robin shares her work stories. It momentarily disarms him, before he continues.

“I love the guy, I do but he’s an idiot. And look, I’m not judging, it’s just getting a little hard to watch you with those sad eyes.” 

That halted your laughter, your eyebrow raising as you cocked your head. “Is that so..”

You didn’t say it like an actual question. There was more condescension in it, and he didn’t know how to respond in a way that sounded casual enough you would’t mistake that he’d been pining after you. Though, come to think of it, maybe he has been. 

He took a long sip from his beer, like it alone could give him the courage to get to the point. “Listen, I’m sure you’ve heard that the fastest way to get over someone, is to get under someone else,” he paused, watching the way your eyes widened. “I just wanted to let you know I’m around, if you wanna test that.” 

Your demeanor shifted then, not confusion — not even amusement. It was something he couldn’t quite place. And you weren’t giving any hints, just staring for what felt like minutes though as a new song came through the speakers it was probably only around 45 seconds, before you said, “Well, that’s a very generous offer Eddie.” 

“Just trying to be a good friend,” he replied, a smirk quirking on his lips.

He watched as you nodded, before bringing your cup to your lips tipping your head back and downing whatever remained. “There’s just one problem,” you said, as you placed the cup back down on the counter with a thud. 

“What’s that?” 

“I prefer to be on top.” 

A low groan fell from Eddie’s lips. He didn’t mean for it to happen. The sound just slipped out like it was desperate to be heard. 

“Oh, sure.”

You laughed softly, then took his hand, and began walking toward the stairwell. 

Eddie followed, trying to dismiss the thought that despite what this was, it didn’t feel like a consolation in the slightest. 

He shut the door behind him, and when he turned around you were already taking a seat on the edge of his bed. He could feel his heartbeat, rapid and intense thud against his chest as you looked up at him. 

His offer came with ease, he’d meant it — he just hand’t expected you to take him up on it so quickly. 

“Soooo,” he drawled running a hand through his hair.

“Soooo,” you repeated tilting your head slightly. 

“You sure about this?” 

“I’m in your bed, aren’t I?”

That was all the confirmation he needed. He moved fast, bending forward, hands cradling your face as he crashed his lips to yours. 

You melted against him, mouth tasting sweet, like melted sugar on his tongue — whatever juice your vodka had been mixed with. Your hands pulled at his shirt, causing him to collapse forward and push you back onto the bed. 

Everything slowed then, a laugh slipping out of you, as Eddie made sure not to crush you with his weight. For a moment, he didn’t move. Just stared into your eyes for the first time in weeks, like they finally had him in focus. 

You smiled softly back at him, thumb tracing his jaw, “It was never Steve.” 

His heart dropped into his stomach, mind whirring. “What?” 

“It’s always been you,” you breathed out, like the words were heavy with what they carried. 

Then the past few weeks flashed in his mind like waves, like his brain was trying to correct something he’d been ignoring. Little moments, replaying like a clipped montage. Every moment Eddie had caught you looking at Steve, he’d always been right there next to him. And every time Eddie’s eyes landed on you, you were snapping your gaze away, falling on Steve. How did he miss that before? Even that first party, where you brought Brenda — before you dismissed yourself, you turned around, just for a second and looked back only at Eddie — like maybe you wanted him to follow. Only he stayed behind, let you go alone, and focused his attention on Brenda and Steve instead. Life a fucking idiot. And tonight, when he asked about your time you talked about him — about being disappointed you missed seeing him play. 

In some ways, he had been perceptive. But perception with a blindspot is an accident waiting to happen. And fuck, did he let it happen — disregarding every moment, because he couldn’t imagine being the object of your desire. 

He didn’t answer with words, just the form of his body pressing against yours, lips colliding fervent and frenzied. His hands slid up your sides, slipping under your shirt, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your abdomen. You moaned into him and a whimper fell from his own lips at the sound, his hips pressing forward on instinct. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him into you like you needed the friction just as badly as he did. 

“Fuck,” he breathed out as you rutted your hips up, meeting him halfway as he rolled his. 

Curses continued to fall from his mouth as your fingers caught in his hair, nails dragging lightly against his scalp each time he pressed forward with more pressure. 

Little pants left your mouth between moans — jaw slack, eyes fixed on him so intensely he could never confuse it again. 

“Need you,” you whimpered. 

Eddie’s hips stuttered, the rhythm he’d just been losing himself in collapsing — his body breaking away from yours too fast, breath labored and uneven, as he stumbled off the bed reaching for his dresser.

His fingers fumbled in the drawer, moving back quickly until the small foil packet slipped form his fingers and their the floor.

“Shit—“ he breathed, crouching to grab it. 

Then you giggled, the sound soft and sweet, and it made all the nerves in his body settle as he stood back up.

His eyes met yours, and he swore you couldn’t look more beautiful if you tried, staring back at him with longing deep in your eyes. 

And goddamn, he couldn’t believe he’d missed it when you’d been right in front of him all this time.