#ccfest

He’s getting winded.  

Eddie Munson digs his fingers into soft flesh at this perfect stranger’s waist, slamming her body back on his cock.  The change in pace must have been exquisite, if her moans are anything to go by.  She’s loud.  So loud.  The entire party’s gonna know what’s going down in this tiny half-bath off the main hall, but he can’t find it in him to care.

She’s chanting his name like a prayer, and he’d answer with his own bit of personalized praise, but he can’t remember her name for the life of him.

Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen to his brain.  Maybe it’s because a majority of his blood volume has rushed south.  Maybe he needs to stop fuckin’ chain-smoking so much because he’s usually a lock with names.  He’s not that pussy-drunk; hell, he’s not drunk at all.  He knows exactly what he’s doing and according to whoever this is, he’s doing it well.

But shit.  This is one of Ronnie’s fuckin’ roommates, for Christ’s sake. He should remember her name.

Jenny?  Tori?  No – it was something he’d never heard before.  Very east-coast, very New-Yorkish and perfect for NYU.  

Remy?

Remy.  That’s it.

“Fuck yeah, take it,” Eddie husks, the wanton lust in his tone makes him sound all gravelly which historically has worked in his favor.  Today is no different, as he notices the shift in her demeanor, the drop of her jaw and the way her head lolls back on her shoulders.  “Oh, y’like that, Remy?  Y’like takin’ my cock like this?”

Remy’s eyes go wide before a pitchy laugh bursts through her slackened lips.  “My name’s Maura.”

Eddie stills his ministrations, cheeks heating with embarrassment.  “Oh, shit – I’m sorry,” he grimaces, forcing himself to meet her fucked-out gaze in the mirror.  Thank Christ she doesn’t look pissed, but it doesn’t quite ease his shame. “Thought it was Remy.”

She gives him a half shrug and arches her spine.  “Don’t you dare slow down,” she grits out as her hand fumbles to find purchase against Eddie’s thigh.  “With a cock like that, you can call me Ethel for all I care.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, grateful for the green light despite his fuckup.  He wraps a hand around the base of her throat and hauls her upright as he sets a tortuous pace.  

“Good then,” he rasps with a nip to her ear.  The devilish glint in his eye is back.  “Lemme hear ya.”

And she does.  God damn, this is just what Eddie needs – a quick romp before the band plays their first gig in who the fuck knows how long.  There’s been no consistency since Ronnie left for school, and now that she’s invited them here to play?  Corroded Coffin feels whole again.  Eddie feels whole again.

Being balls deep in this very enthusiastic college coed is definitely helping matters, too.

Leaning forward to clutch the edge of the sink, he spews forth a litany of filth, peppering praise and pet names like he’s the star of a porno Harrington slings from the depths of Family Video.  Predictably, his words are the key to her undoing, and Remy Maura belts out an elongated oh! ahead of an orgasm that’s surely going to choke the fuck out of Eddie’s cock –

Until it all comes to a screeching halt with the swift swing of the door and the sharp bang of the handle as it collides with the opposite wall.

Eddie jolts out of rhythm, blinking his heavy-lidded doe-eyes at the stranger at the threshold.  As best he can, he maneuvers Maura away so this guy’s not getting an eyeful.  Eddie doesn’t recognize him, and not like he would so far from home.  He seems to be his age or maybe a year or two younger. Medium height. Stocky build that fills the fuck out of a black Nine Inch Nails tee that’s partially obscured by a pair of meaty forearms that cross over his broad chest.  

One of which is completely covered in an intricate sleeve.

If Eddie wasn’t so close to blowing his load in this chick, he’d probably strike up a conversation and beg the guy for his artist’s name because damn.

But he is.  Or, he was.  He was so fucking close – and now his orgasm’s been ripped away by some smirking dumbass with a ring in his lower lip, a bar in his left eyebrow, piercing blue eyes and a head full of cocky ringlet curls.  

Yeah.  Even his fucking hair advertises this guy’s blatant asshole status.

Which is why Eddie snaps a bit more caustic than he probably should, 

“Can I help you with something?”

Those intense seaglass eyes never unlock from Eddie’s.  He raises a lofty brow.  “Maybe.”

Eddie’s lips press in a thin line, willing away how irritating it is that this guy’s voice is just drenched in arrogance.  Like he didn’t just walk in on two people fucking.  Like he shouldn’t be backing out of the room with his tail between his legs, apologizing for exposing this chick’s bare ass to – well, admittedly, no one in the hallway – but definitely ruining a pair of pretty decent orgasms.

“Kinda busy here, man,” Eddie grits out, burying himself to the hilt in one languid thrust and grinning when he gets a whimper in return.  “Can it wait?”

That fucker’s smirk deepens as he trails his stare south, an obvious glance to Eddie’s dick that should make him more uncomfortable.  

But it doesn’t. 

Eddie might have to unpack that one later with Grant.

The stranger slices his gaze back to molten pools of whiskey brown and fucking winks.  “Hope so.”  

Without a second glance to the woman bent over the sink, the blue-eyed menace turns and disappears out the door, leaving Eddie and Re - Maura in a stunned silence.  

At least he’s still hard.  “What the fuck,” Eddie mutters as he swipes his hand through the air, catching the edge of the fiberboard to slam the door and thrust them back into the privacy they deserve.  “That was fuckin’ weird.”  

He’s about ready to dig back in, to bring her back to the brink once more when he hears her swear, stare snapping back to the mirror to realize she’s got mortification painted all over her face.

Eddie's own face falls.  Shit. Should he have done more to shield her from that perv and protect her honor, or something?  “What's wrong?”

“That – oh my god,” she looks defeated as head drops between her arms.  After a shaky breath, she pulls herself off Eddie’s cock and mutters, “I have to go.”

Eddie flinches, immediately missing the warmth of her body. “What the shit, Remy?”

“Maura.”

“God damn it.  Sorry.  But what the fuck?” Eddie practically screeches as she yanks up her jeans.  “I’m sorry I didn’t lock the door or beat that guys ass –”

“It’s not that!” she calls hurriedly over her shoulder, darting out of the door in a flash while Eddie’s still-hard cock bobs lonely between his legs.  

For the third time tonight, he slams the bathroom door. “What in the actual fuck?”

“Hey Ronnie,” Eddie strides over to his friend as she puts the finishing touches on her kit, “have you seen your roommate?”

Her head whips up, dark eyes sparkling.  “No, I’ve been looking everywhere for her!  Her boyfriend is here!”

Eddie’s eyes nearly pop out of his head as he splutters on his beer.  “Boyfriend?”

“Yeah!  He and his friends just showed up.  Finally. Hauled ass from Rutgers to make the party. I think he's looking for her.”

Suddenly, it all makes sense.  The lack of Remy’s reaction when that guy barged right in.  The minute flare of eyelids before the stranger schooled his face neutral and set his sights on Eddie.  Hell, he thought maybe she was into some kinky shit and he was prepared to talk to her about it, because fucking score – but nope.  That bit of tension he initially brushed off as shock was actually – so obviously – familiarity.  

Motherfucker.

Eddie forces down a dry swallow, and not even downing half his beer unsticks that dense tangle of dread lodged in his throat. “Lucky me.”

Ronnie hauls herself up on one knee, cocking her head in a way that she’s just put two and two together.  “Why are you acting like my roommate's boyfriend is a problem?”

Midnight curls rattle around a guilty face.  “I’m not.”

“Gross, Eddie!  Have you been hitting on my roommate?”

He takes another long swig of beer, because that would be preferable to what actually happened.  Because what’s actually happened is liable to get his ass kicked.  “Not… exactly.”

Ronnie groans, dragging herself to her feet before shoving past her bandmate for the night.  “I leave you alone for five fucking minutes,” she mutters as she lowers a shoulder into Eddie’s chest.

“Hey,” he wheezes, rubbing at his sternum as he calls to her back, “to be fair, it was a lot longer than five minutes!”

The set goes off without a hitch.  He’s in his element, and fuck it if he doesn’t see the allure of college life now.  This frat house Ronnie had set them up via some friend of a friend initially wasn’t Eddie’s go-to venue, and he let the guys know his concerns on that long drive over.

Now?  He’s eating his words.

Of course, Jeff and Grant had their own reservations, too.  Eddie wasn’t alone in that.  But the pull to play together again was just too strong, and Ronnie does have a way of getting what she wants.  But damn, he’s so glad they’re here. 

Never in his life did he think they’d get such a warm reception.  

But they did. 

Dancing.  Singing.  Screaming.  Cheering.  Over an hour of it, sweating and smiling in the warm September evening, Eddie both loves and hates that this is the best he’s felt while playing in over two years.

Even spotting that jerkwad in the crowd while he played doesn't damper his mood.  It’s fleeting at best, and Eddie tries not to dwell on what’s probably an inevitable fight following their show.  At least there’s been no Remy in sight. 

Shit.

No Maura in sight.  

Aw, fuck it.  That chick’s Remy now.  Not like she’s here to correct him, anyway.  

He’s spent the better part of their performance trying not to care.  Not to sweat it.  To move on and just ignore the brain-melting glares from that lip-ringed asshole.  But he can’t – Eddie’s not one to easily let things go, never has been; and maybe because he’s the one in the wrong, this is proving to be a harder task.

Mix that with the alcohol, the post-show adrenaline, and the unfinished bathroom business from earlier, Eddie may or may not be itching for a fight.  

Or a fuck.  

Or both. 

And compound that on top of the fact that he hasn’t seen the curly-haired menace with the baby-blue eyes in over an hour has him on edge.  Jumpy.

So, he does what any intelligent twenty-something would do in a university setting – throw back a shot of tequila with Grant because that seems like a great way to relax his nerves.  

It’s not.    

A quick glance around advertises that the coast is clear.  No surly boyfriends and their gang of merry men are waiting to jump Eddie’s scrawny ass.  Eddie grabs a couple of beers and his rhythm guitarist, leading his friend to the relatively secluded side-yard under the pretense of needing some air.

He’s downed beer number two before the truth comes out.

“I fucked Ronnie’s roommate.”

Jeff pitches forward, bringing his hand to his mouth as he chokes on his booze.  “Dude, what?”

“Well, kind of fucked,” Eddie rambles on, because shit, this feels good to get off his chest. “Neither of us finished –”

“Ew.”

“– because we got interrupted by her boyfriend.”

Jeff scrubs a hand down his face.  “God damn it, Ed.”

“What?” Eddie winces at his lame attempt of appearing nonchalant.  Like he wasn’t bringing Jeff back here to ensure backup.  Typically, Jeff’s easier to convince, but tonight Eddie may have been better off starting with Grant.  “I’m just telling you so you know!”

“No,” Jeff is clearly exasperated as he elongates the vowel, “you're telling me because you’re afraid he’s gonna kick your ass.”

“Not – not really.  He’s not very formidable looking,” Eddie reasons with a lame-ass shrug. “I could probably take him.”

Jeff’s mouth presses into a thin line.  “Been winning a lot of fights lately, have you?”

“Shut up.”

“Dude, come on.  I really just wanted to enjoy myself tonight.”

That has Eddie scoffing hard, his irritation melting into a groan.  “I sincerely apologize that I didn’t properly vet the pussy that was provided to me on a silver goddamn platter.  She came at me hard, man!  This is college life, right?  What the fuck was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” Jeff counters with unflappable logic, “not get your dick wet in case she has a boyfriend that’s entirely capable of kicking your ass, no matter what advantage you’ve irrationally convinced yourself you now have over him?”

Well shit.  That’s exactly it.  “Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Eddie chews on his thoughts, weighing his options that don’t look terribly great.  “So, you’ll back me up, right?”

“Depends,” Jeff says as he finishes his beer.  “Which one is he?”

“Ohh,” Eddie drawls in typical theatrical fashion that does not suit the situation at hand, “I’m thrilled to know your loyalty is conditional, Jeffrey.”

“Damn right it is.  I’m not getting a right hook to the goddamn face because you couldn’t keep it in your pants for five minutes.”

Eddie’s jaw clenches.  “You sound like Ronnie.”

Rising to his feet, Jeff points a finger in Eddie’s face.  “Good.”

The mystery guy with that stupid smirk and the even stupider lip ring is gone.  Eddie hasn’t seen him in a couple of hours at least, and for the first time since that bathroom door flew open, he's relaxed.

Lounging in a lawn chair next to Ronnie, he's really enjoying himself.  Talking and laughing and carrying on with his buddies, with Ronnie’s friends (who really aren’t half bad at all).  As his buzz wears off, Eddie can see how much she shines here.  

He always knew she would.  But it’s pretty fuckin’ cool to see firsthand.  

All too soon, the shot (or two) of tequila catches up with the beers he’s consumed, and Eddie slyly excuses himself from the comfortable crowd to slink to the very back where an older storage shed stands.  The perfect bit of privacy to relieve a few hours worth of libations, as it’s tucked semi-neatly in the yard’s very back corner.  

He rounds it without a second thought, careful to step around a rusted-out rake that’s hiding in the too-tall grass.

Which is probably why he doesn’t notice he’s not alone.  

He’s halfway through watering the frat house lawn when he hears a gravelly voice from the shadows, roughened and smoky as if they just awakened.

“This is the second time I’ve seen you with your dick out in less than four hours.”

Eddie freezes, dick still in his hand.  He knows that voice.  Without looking up, he swallows heavily and wills forward some snark. “Lucky you.”

A pause hangs heavy in the air.  The stranger hums, a dark and rumbly thing that makes the hair on Eddie’s neck stand at attention.  Eddie slices his gaze to where the guy stands all casual against the corrugated metal of the small structure, losing his breath as the full, cherubic cheeks pull inward as he sucks on his blunt.  Smoke billows out of his pout before he shoves off, covering more ground quicker than expected and prompting Eddie to throw a defensive forearm over his face while furiously tucking himself back in with the other.  

“Fuck,” he shrieks, “don’t hit me, man!  I didn’t know!”

The stranger snickers.  “Didn’t know what?”

“That she’s your girl!” Eddie lowers his arm to look the guy straight on.  As if eye contact is gonna drive home some extra sincerity.  “I had no idea.  I – just knew she was Ronnie’s roommate –”

“She is,” he finishes smoothly.

Eddie sighs.  “Well, if I knew she had a boyfriend –”

“She doesn’t.”

“Oh.” Eddie’s a little surprised how sure this guy sounds.  Matter of fact and not at all upset.  “She doesn’t?”

He shrugs.  Unbothered.  “Not anymore.” 

“Oh,” Eddie says again, glitching like a broken record.  “Sorry.”

“Are you?” the stranger sneers with another hard step toward Eddie.  Instinctively, he rears back, though he clearly has the height advantage on this guy.  Not that it matters.  The way that this guy is glaring at him despite having to tilt that chiseled chin up quite a ways, Ed’s the one that feels about three feet tall.  

“Yeah.  I am,” Eddie finds it in him to answer firmly.  He may be a horndog, but he’s not gonna go bang some guy’s girl just cause the opportunity is there.  There are no fists flying yet, but Eddie swears the tension is thicker than ever.  “Swear I didn’t mean anything by it.”

The stranger chuckles darkly, sending a shiver down Eddie’s spine.  “Only to get your massive cock wet, yeah?”  When Eddie can only blink in response, a sandy-haired head tilts to the side.  Accentuating an annoyingly perfect cupid’s bow, he takes another drag from his joint before blowing the spicy smoke back in Eddie’s face.  “Did you? Did you get your dick wet, Munson?”

Eddie’s upper lip curls.  “How the fuck do you know my name?”

“Answer me first.”

God, the nerve on this guy.  “I – guess.”

“You guess?  That’s not much of an answer.”  Two fingertips dig into Eddie’s sternum.  “Try again.”

What in the actual fuck is happening?  Eddie takes another step back, painfully aware his cock has awakened to strain against the fly of his jeans.  But that’s ridiculous.  None of this is turning him on.  He’s nervous he’s gonna get his ass beat, and that’s all.  Right?

Right?

Funny how it feels a lot like when he hooked up with that guy from Indy behind the Hideout.  Best blowjob of Eddie’s fuckin’ life.  Came so hard against that dirty brick wall that he about passed out.  And that was nothing compared to how it felt to return the favor.  Work him open in the back of his van, edge him to the point of insanity before fucking his brains out while that squeaky axel he’s yet to fix advertised their debauchery as it echoed through the back alley.

But this isn't that.  Nick was so much taller than this guy.  Tall, dark, and handsome as fuck.  Not as stocky, not as arrogant.  

Definitely didn’t fill out a pair of skinny jeans like the man in front of him does.  

The fuckin’ thighs on this guy –

Eddie snaps back to the present.  “Fuckin’ Christ, you serious?”  When all he gets in return is a locked-in stare, Eddie runs a hand through his hair and concedes.  “Yeah, okay, I got my dick wet.  If you’re gonna beat my ass you might as well just throw your punch cause this is gettin’ fuckin’ weird.”

The guy laughs.  Barks an actual, full-on, amused-as-fuck laugh.  “Not what she said.  Told me neither of you finished so,” his tone swings up to a mocking falsetto, “it hardly counts as cheating.”

Eddie winces.  Guilt bubbles in his belly as he eeks out a meek, “Oh.  That’s –”

A tattooed hand waves him off.  “It does count.  I told her as much.”

“Yeah.” Eddie worries his bottom lip through his teeth as he tries for genuine.  Again.  “Sorry, man.”

“How sorry?”

“What?”

The guy is laser-focused on Eddie’s mouth.  “How sorry are you?  Sorry enough to do something about it?”

“What?”  

Eddie’s heart rate ratchets up in his chest, because there’s no way he’s implying what Eddie thinks he’s implying.  It’s a monumental effort to avoid the urge to adjust himself in his jeans, to dig the heel of his hand against his cock that was brought to the brink of release and will it to settle down, because this isn’t what he wants…

No.  A quick and dirty fuck in a secluded, darkened corner of some frat house backyard doesn’t sound appealing.  At all.  Nope, nope.  Not at all.  

But Eddie’s feet stay firmly planted in the ground.  His tongue is fixed to the roof of his mouth.  His body refuses to move and in its own way, it begs for more.  For this guy to tell him straight-up what the hell is happening, and does it just so happen to involve Eddie on his knees, using his talented tongue to apologize in other more creative ways?

Eddie grunts, palming his traitorous, too-hard dick in his jeans.  

Fuck.  Guess that’s his answer.

The sandy-haired stranger sees it all, chuckling as he brings the blunt to his mouth.  The tip flaring cherry red as he inhales deeply.  

And then he strikes.

A fist flies forward, bunching Eddie’s tee in his hand and wrenching him close.  Eddie sucks in a breath as he’s brought nose to nose, lids flaring wide as those full lips mouth a very distinct but silent,

Open.

Eddie obeys.  He doesn’t know why the fuck that is, why he’s so content to just follow orders of this random asshole, but damnit if he does.  Damn it that he wants to.

And then it’s slow.  It’s torturously slow how the man moves to hover his mouth over Eddie’s, taking his sweet ass time bringing his lips so close that Eddie can see a light smattering of freckles over the bridge of this guy’s nose.  Lips part, and Eddie mirrors the action, inhaling in a lungful of sweet, spicy smoke like he’s done a thousand times before.  Filling his lungs as best he can, he expects to be let go, allowed to return to his full height, but the stranger keeps his hold on his shirt, shoving him a negligible distance away once he’s decided Ed’s had enough.

What little is left is forced through the man’s nose, twin plumes rising in hazy whorls around a face that’s fixed with this relaxed sort of intensity.  

Eddie kinda hates how fucking hot that looks.  

He must have it splashed across his forehead, a marquee that flashes HORNY or some shit like that, because that asshole’s smirk deepens so much that he pops a dimple in his right cheek.

“That’s what I thought,” his tone is all gravel as he peers at Eddie down the slope of his nose.  “Get on your knees.”

He’s already halfway there, anyway.  A thrill rushes up Eddie’s spine as he positions himself just as he’s told, kneecaps digging into the softness of the grass.  He waits for more; a more than willing participant in whatever this stranger has planned.  When the man backs up to lean his frame against the shed, Eddie's scolded as soon as he makes a move to stand and follow.

“Ah, ah.  Stay down.”  It’s stern how it’s said, zinging over electrified skin in a filthy sort of excitement.  Eddie does, shuffling on bended knee the four feet or so to close the distance.  The stranger hums appreciatively.  “Good boy.”

Eddie clamps his jaw shut to stifle a moan.  Fuck this guy for fucking figuring him out like this so quickly.

At least he’s not the only one affected.  The man’s chest is heaving, and Eddie can tell quite well from this angle that he’s just as turned on.  Even in the dim light, there’s no hiding the mass behind his fly, the pink tinge in his cheeks, the way his mouth is parted as he appraises Eddie waiting patiently on his knees.  

“Take out my cock,” the blue-eyed menace croaks.

Eddie doesn’t dwell on how his heart flips with anticipation, how it lodges in his throat and trills with excitement.  He’s undone his belt and zipper in record time, whiskey-brown flashing up to baby blue as he palms the very edge of the guy’s happy trail and sinks beneath the band of his boxer briefs.

Oh, fuck him.

He’s thick.  Not quite as long as Eddie, definitely not – but damn, he shoulda figured this guy’s cock would be solid like this.  Absently licking his lips, Eddie tugs down the underwear to fully free his length, swiping the tip of his thumb over his slickened tip.

Eddie’s whole body warms at the low moan he elicits with each pass.  “Are you gonna fuck me?”

“Fuck your mouth, maybe,” the nameless stranger responds, threading his inked fingers through Eddie’s curls.  “Want you to work me open.”

The matter-of-fact manner in which he just says it throws Eddie for a loop.  “What?”

“You say that a lot.”

“No – I just –”

Eddie stumbles over his words, unsure exactly how to tell this guy that he’s good with this, more than okay with foreplay and then fucking him – it’s just that he didn’t expect it, is all.  Definitely not with the haughty way this guy’s acting, that’s for sure.  But in Eddie’s silence, the boyfriend once scorned mistakes it for hesitance and drops that handful of midnight curls.  

“Shit, Munson,” he mutters with a softness almost unbefitting as he goes to tuck himself back in his jeans, “if you didn’t wanna do this, all you had to say –”

A ringed hand shoots out, long fingers curling around the man’s wrist.  Eddie pushes all his lust, all his want into how he assures, “I didn’t fucking say that.”  

Crystalline eyes narrow into sardonic slips of blue as a smile slithers over his lips.  “Say it then.”  He grunts as Eddie’s fingers wrap around the base of his cock, pumping his length in long, languid strokes.  “Go on,” the stranger rasps, “say it.”

Running his tongue along his lower lip, Eddie’s own voice is drenched in sex as he husks, “I wanna suck your dick.”

His head tilts, appraising the man on his knees.  “Yeah?  Do you?  You done this before?”  

Oh, has he ever.  Eddie grins, lolling out his tongue, internally preening at the way this guy moans to the night sky.  “Oh, fuck yes, tongue out.”  

His taste is fuckin’ heady, like the heat of the evening got to him, had him sweating just like everyone else as they mingled outdoors.  Eddie loves it.  Craves it.  Licks a broad, wet stripe from balls to tip, savoring every rich flavor and swirling the flat of his tongue around the head, reveling in the salty sweetness that lingers there.  Hollowing his cheeks, Eddie applies just a little sampling of suction as he works him to the base, barely gagging once he’s got him in the back of his throat.

The rhythmic spasms has the man tightening his hold and hissing Eddie’s name.  “Look at you.  Definitely not your first time, fuck –”

No, Eddie practically snorts.  Not by a fuckin’ long shot.  He gives the guy a minute shake of his head, just so he knows.  Not that he isn’t gonna find out soon enough with the way Eddie’s expert tongue flicks along the underside of his shaft, swirling around the head as he pops off the tip, just to dive back down and swallow him whole once again.

“Ohhh, fuck,” a swell of pride blooms in Eddie’s chest at that drawn-out groan.  Swallowing once, Eddie revels in how those fingers in his hair tighten with every deft movement of his mouth. “Fuckin’ knew it.  Knew this mouth would feel like this.”

Eddie ratchets up the suction around the tip, eliciting a violent stream of obscenities under the man’s breath.   

“God damn,” he grunts with a gentle undulation of his hips, “just like that.  Hnmmyeah – oh, fuck yes.  Don’t be shy now, baby,” the man coos as Eddie laps along the ridged underside of his cock, “I like it messy.  Spit on it.”

“Jesus fuck,” Eddie croaks, mouth suddenly going dry as an ample bead of precome leaks from his aching cock, further dampening his boxers an uncomfortable extreme.  

So it’s no surprise when he spits on the guy’s dick, he doesn’t get much.

A calloused hand grips at Eddie’s jaw.  “Open.”  

“Ahh,” Eddie whines as the man bends at his waist, lips so fucking close that Eddie can almost reach him.  Taste him.

He gets exactly what he wants as a large string of saliva lands directly on Eddie’s tongue.  “Try again, yeah?”

Fuck.  Eddie doesn’t have to be told twice.

He lets a pool of saliva collect before letting it fall from the tip of his tongue, coating that impressive length from root to tip.  He works his hand up and down, twisting at the crown in a way that’s just diabolical enough to elicit yet another string of praises.

The way this guy lets them fly is probably enough to get Eddie off alone.  

“Front pocket,” he tells Eddie between shallow pants, “there’s a little packet – fuuuck –”

Eddie’s dexterous fingers dig through denim, securing the tiny packet of lube.  Keeping his cadence, Eddie works his cock in time with thrusting hips as he tears off a corner, wets his longest finger, and empties the cool contents to coat what he can.  He keeps locked on twin pools of baby blue as the wetted pad slides back, back, back – until he finds just what he’s looking for –

Sandy ringlet curls rattle as his head thunks against the shed.  “Shiiiit, shit – ohmyfuckingg, yess –”

He pushes inside with ease.  That tight rim of muscle is more than accepting, enveloping Eddie’s finger in a sultry flash of heat and want.  Surging forward, Eddie swallows down his length, keeping his stare locked on how blissed out he’s making this guy look.  

Despite the fucked out state Eddie has him in, the guy still manages to spew a litany of filth and praise.  

“C’nya take more?  Want me to go deeper?  Harder?”  Eddie’s eyes glaze over as he nods with a mouthful of cock, and the stranger huffs an incredulous laugh.  “Wanna choke on it?  Course you do.  Mouth like that’s just beggin’ to be fucked.”

Eddie takes it all.  Every deep thrust that buries his nose in dense wiry hair, every firm bump of that thick cockhead against the back of his throat.  He gags and splutters, greedy for more – and all the while, searching for that one spot inside that he knows is gonna make this guy fall apart.  

“Work me open, baby,” the stranger coos, jolting when Eddie brushes against that spot along his front wall.  “Fuck yeah, right there.  Add another.  Gonna have to give me more, I saw what you’ve got –”

Eddie hums as he slides another finger inside, swirling his tongue before shifting to suck and lap at the tip.  

It nearly has the guy buckling to the ground.  “Fuck, god damn you’re so good – curl your fingers – yes, yes –”

Eddie’s got him right where he wants him, cock pulsing in his mouth ahead of what is sure to be a fuckin’ hell of a release.  But before Eddie gets exactly what he wants, a hand tightens in his hair, cinching around corkscrewed strands to haul him to his feet.  

“Need you now,” he pants, pawing at Eddie’s belt.  “Couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

Eddie’s eyes nearly bug out of his head.  “Yeah?”  When he sees him nod, Eddie helps shed his pants, hissing out a hah! as his cock is fisted in the guy’s calloused palm.  

“Got a little jealous Maura got to have this cock –”

“Wait, who?” Oh,” Eddie wheezes, choking on a moan as his dick is expertly worked over, “I keep fuckin’ forgetting – thought her name was Remy.”

The ministrations halt as the guy barks a laugh.  “Remy?”

“Yeah,” Eddie’s a little breathy as he chuffs, “Whatever, right?”

Baby blue eyes flash as he tosses Eddie a wicked grin.  “Exactly.  Wanna finish what you started, big guy?”

Does he ever.  Eddie spins him around, shoving his jeans down his legs and loving the way the guy’s hands slam against the side of the shed.  It’s loud, echoing in a way that there’s no way someone didn’t hear.

He wonders briefly if they’re gonna get caught.  Wonders again why he doesn’t really care.  

Eddie empties what’s left in the packet on his tip, not that much was needed with how worked up he’s been.  The amount of precome he’s leaked is obscene, and he’s ready to use it to his advantage.  He’s slick as he lines up, teasing his cockhead over and over that entrance he worked so hard to prep –

“God damn it, man –” Eddie grins at the harsh tongue-lashing and swirls over his rim again, pushing against it before pulling back.  The man drops his mop of curls between his shoulders.  “Stop teasing me and fuck me already!”

“Careful, sweetheart,” Eddie warns with a subtle thrust of his hips that has the guy sucking in a breath through his teeth, “you’re sounding a bit desperate, yeah?  Wouldn’t wanna ruin that big ole tough guy act you’ve got goin’ on.”

A haughty scoff.  “You haven’t even seen –”

Eddie scoffs right back as he starts the slow press of his cock right where he’s wanted.  “Yeah, we’ll see how tough you are when I’m inside you.”

A retort is fired and ready, but it’s shaky at best.  “You run your mouth this much before you –” Eddie’s thick cockhead finally pops through that tight ring of muscle, swinging the man’s tone up an octave as he’s drenched in pleasure. “Oh fuck, ahh, ahhh –”

Biting back his own set of moans, Eddie opts to tease.  Just a little more.  “What was that, princess?”  He buries himself to the hilt.  “Got somethin’ to say?”

His hand reaches back, digging a set of blunted nails in the flesh along Eddie’s hip.  “So fuckin’ big –”

Eddie doesn’t think that’s quite it, and for a moment, he feels a little bad.  “Shoulda prepped you more,” he pushes through gritted teeth, taking his time in slow, measured movements, “you’re too tight, fuck –”

“No,” the man rasps, “feels so good this way.  So good,” he drops his hips against Eddie’s with every thrust as if to prove his point.  “Keep going.”

This guy is a literal wet dream, a little bit of a masochist.  Eddie can totally relate.  “Y’like it to hurt a little?  Is that it?”

“Fuck yeah.” 

With that kind of response, how could Eddie not drill into him?  How could he not give it to him hard, make it hurt with every snap of his hips?  He can’t – and so he does, spurred on by the filthiest of unfiltered moans.  

“Give me your hand,” he manages to pant out, and Eddie complies, knowing exactly where this is going.  Warmth pools in his palm, and Eddie reaches forward to grasp that thick cock hanging heavy and neglected between those powerful thighs.  “Fuckkk, fuck yes – ‘m not gonna last long –”

“Hah – me either,” Eddie grits out, fighting his own release, “you’re so fuckin’ tight, Christ –”

It’s only a moment or two; a couple of well-placed strokes and an agile flick of his wrist before Eddie tips him over the edge.  He feels it has it happens – every pulse, every and spasm that draws tight over his own cock that strains with promise of release.  

He can feel it building fast, and so he puffs out a barely audible, “Where?”

That hand on Eddie’s thigh grips him hard.  “Don't you dare pull out.”  

And so he doesn’t.  He holds on, burying the pads of his fingers into tender flesh along unfamiliar hips as Eddie’s own snaps once, twice more before he spills deep inside.  It’s been ages since he’s done this; he’s been on a run of women for a long ass time and he’d forgotten how much harder he seems to feel it this way – balls deep in another man, being wound up and wrung out like a dirty dishcloth.  

This time is no exception.  It’s like this guy is siphoning every ounce of Eddie’s soul through his dick.  Heart pounding, head rushing – damn, he thinks he is.

Eddie thinks whoever this is has him completely blissed out.

It takes a long time to come down.  If he thought he was winded before, it’s nothing compared to what he is now.  Still buried to the hilt, Eddie doesn’t possess any semblance of sanity to pull out quite yet.  

Not that he really wants to.  It feels pretty good, actually, to still be joined like this.  

He wonders if this blue-eyed devil of a man feels it, too.

As soon as he’s thought it, the spell breaks.  The forehead that Eddie’s resting on a broad shoulder is shrugged away.  Eddie stumbles forward following the abrupt movement, softening cock following in his wake as it slips from his body, slick and lewd.

Eddie just stands there stunned as the other man ignores him, yanking up his jeans in a hurry.  He figures he outta do the same; he’s not gonna be caught there gaping when he should be dressing.

He might actually get that right hook to the face if he doesn’t move it along.

So, he does.  Jaw clamped shut, Eddie drags his jeans up a pair of sweaty, spindly legs.  He’s all in his head, wondering and worrying and almost misses the amused purse of cherry-red lips as they say,

“See ya around, Munson.”

Damn.  That seems kinda final.  So it’s no wonder Eddie’s a little sour as he chuffs, “Right.  Whatever.” 

“Aw,” the shorter man saunters back his way, snaking a hand around his waist to pull him close.  “Don’t miss me too much.”

Well, fuck him if this asshole isn’t charming.  Eddie huffs and rolls his eyes, afraid that if he looks too hard at him, Eddie’ll go and do something stupid.

Like ask for his number.

Or his name.

Eddie’s spine goes rod-straight, and he calls out to the guy’s retreating form. “Wait – dude, wait!  The fuck’s your name, anyway?”

He doesn’t even break stride when he fires back over his shoulder, “Remy.”

Eddie snorts.  “Yeah, okay.”  What else can he do but shake his head and mutter to himself as he watches him slip back into the throngs of drunk college kids?  Nothing.  

Or, hit him with one final dig as the mystery man disappears into the throng of partygoers.  

“Jackass.”

Three months later

Everything is happening in slow motion.  Like he’s trudging through molasses or swimming underwater.  

Like he’s in a goddamn dream, because there’s no way this is happening.

He’s here.

That mystery guy from NYU is here.

In Hawkins.

At the Hideout, of all places.

Eddie blinks, and then blinks again – but that doesn’t wipe away the literal mirage of a man he’s staring down, the very one leaning against the worn wood of the bar.  

Nope, that’s definitely him.  Dirty blonde curls, piercing blue eyes, smart smirk on a perfect mouth.  The only difference is that he’s traded out that thick silver hoop on his bottom lip for a more delicate gold one.  

But that’s it.  Everything else is the same, and Eddie cannot fathom why the guy that’s inhabited the majority of his fantasies since that night in early fall is here.

Or why Ronnie is nudging his thickset bicep, steering him towards their table.  Like she knows he’s here.  Like she planned this –

Eddie’s lids flare wide as the two of them stop with intention in front of where they sit.  

“Hey guys!” Ronnie sets down three pint glasses as she thumbs at Eddie’s walking wet dream.  “I’ll just get right to it.  This is Gareth.  He’s the drummer I’ve been telling you about.”

Jeff and Grant seem thrilled, extending their hands to shake the one donned in familiar tattoos – and why wouldn’t they be?  According to that phone call from Ronnie last month, she was convinced she’d found their new drummer.  Just as good as her and in desperate need of a band.

Her enthusiasm convinced them without much of a second thought.  

Maybe it should have caused Eddie some pause, because Jesus Christ, is he ever pausing now.  He’s full-on glitching; body is rod-straight while his lips are slack with shock, especially as the guy – Gareth, apparently – turns to Eddie with a look he can’t quite decipher.

And then he hits him with that stupid, adorable, knee-buckling smirk. “What?”

Ronnie snorts, catching the tail end of the exchange.  “Yeah, Eddie, I know you already know him, you dumbass horn-dog.”

That snaps Eddie out of his stupor.  He feels as if his entire stomach has dropped straight through the floor.  “What did you just say?”

“Yeah, Ed,” Gareth goads, all lighthearted and familiar like he knows him. Eddie finds it irritatingly endearing. “Don’t you remember the night of the NYU party?”  

Eddie’s eyes nearly bug out of his head.  Is this guy for real?  Is he seriously going to out him like this in front of everyone?  

Is he that much of a jackass?  Because fuck, Eddie’s gonna be really fucking disappointed if he is.

A dimple pops in Gareth’s right cheek as he just comes right out and says it. “The night I walked in on you fucking my ex behind an unlocked bathroom door?”

“Dude, that was you?” Jeff groans, tossing a pained look at Eddie before taking it upon himself to diffuse the situation.  “Look, Eddie had no –”

Gareth laughs.  His entire face ignites, bright apple cheeks tinge pink and Eddie has the curious urge to bite them.  

Affectionately, of course.

“ – Idea,” Gareth finishes genially, enough so that Jeff relaxes.  Full, pink lips purse knowingly as he reiterates, “I know, man, chill.  Eddie had no idea Maura – look, it doesn’t matter.”  He waves a tattooed hand as he slides in the booth, right next to Eddie.  Crystalline eyes sparkle with their secret, and Eddie’s stomach swoops.  “We’re good.  We’re really good.  Worked it out, didn’t we Munson?”

A slow smile crawls over Eddie’s lips, marrying the last several months of fantasy into the reality sitting right next to him.  

“Might have to revisit the conversation, Gareth,” he leans dangerously close as intention drips from his canines, “I seem to have forgotten a thing or two.”

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The reunion almost didn't happen; they hadn't talked or seen one another in person in so long. It was the miracle, known as Facebook, that got them talking regularly again. Sending videos back and forth, commenting on each others throwback Thursday photos.

High school, then college, then jobs and families and vacations. Lives lived separate, when in another universe they might've stayed on the same trajectory together.

"Remember when we thought we were gonna hit it big?" Dave laughed sardonically after they'd greeted each other with handshakes and hugs and tears. They'd laughed and pointed out this beer gut and that thinning hairline. "Now I help people plan for retirement."

"Didn't think you were smart enough for that, Davey," Gareth chuckled, causing the older man to grab for him to try and put him in a headlock, just like he did when they were younger.

It was a beautiful day. Sun and fluffy cumulus clouds, unseasonably warm for March but none of them could complain about it.

"Leave it to us to not see each other in decades and we start off the conversation about the weather."

"You can take the boys out of the midwest but you can't take the midwest out of the boys."

They'd settled into lawn chairs, courtesy of Gareth, who hauled them all the way back to Indiana in his soccer-dad-minivan.

"Soccer, huh?" Jeff questioned mirthfully.

"Laugh it up," Gareth snorted. "I also have a kid that's an absolute menace. Couldn't be caught dead playing sportsball."

"Takes after Uncle Eddie, then, huh?"

They all went silent at that.

Because there were only three lawn chairs.

Three lawn chairs and a headstone.

They sat in front of it as though it was a television set, but there was only one thing on display.

Edward J. Munson Beloved Son, Nephew, and Friend.

The stone was chipped, weathered, covered in moss and other debris. There were also remnants of red paint clinging to the edges of the inscription.

People had gotten bored of defacing the grave a long time ago; no one cared about Hawkins anymore. No one cared about Eddie. The rest of the world had moved past the alleged murders and the earthquakes and all of the mysteries that had plagued the small town all that time ago.

Except the three of them.

That's why they were here.

"Do your kids...call him Uncle Eddie?" Gareth asked tentatively.

Jeff wasn't sure how to respond. How his old friends would react if he told them the truth.

"It's complicated."

There were a few beats of silence, before he spoke again.

"They do." Then he dove into an explanation. "They found a box of stuff at my mom's house a while back. Polaroids we'd taken at the trailer, at StarCourt, on Halloween. Copies of our fliers. Even my old Hellfire shirt. So I told them about Uncle Eddie, who taught me how not to be absolutely shit at guitar."

Gareth hummed and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Come on," Dave lightly hit his arm with the back of his hand. "Don't act like you've never thought about him for the last 30 years."

"I've really tried not to."

"Then what are we doing here, Gare?" Jeff scoffed. "Why did I drive 10 hours to come and sit in front of his grave if you're gonna act like he wasn't our friend."

Gareth worried his bottom lip for a pensive minute, trying to keep his tears at bay.

"I was really angry for the longest time," he finally admitted. "My parents made us leave with that initial wave of evacuees...after the first quake. We only took what could fit in both of their cars. We left my drum kit behind. And I didn't...I didn't even know he was..." His breath hitched as he was unable to say the word; 30-year-old emotions kept it stuck in his throat. "...for a whole week."

He pulled it together, letting the necessity of stereotypical, stoic masculinity that he had to adapt over the years take over and lock away the 17-year old he used to be again. The one that had been allowed to be stupid and upset with his friends.

"Once I heard, I started to blame myself. Because if I hadn't told Jason Carver where he could've found Eddie...Eddie could've gotten out of Hawkins and he'd still be alive. And I know...I know...who could've guessed that Victor Creel's copycat killer would've been on the loose. Or that there'd be an earthquake. But he'd been running around...hiding because those assholes were looking for him."

On and on, he spouted off his theory about what that fateful week had looked like, the through line between the murders. How if Patrick McKinney hadn't been part of the group looking for Eddie, Eddie wouldn't have been anywhere near when Patrick was killed. And if that was the case, he wouldn't have died in the quake either.

Of course, Jeff and Dave still asked questions, trying to get some sense of logic out of everything that Gareth said, but he snapped at them.

"It's like Jeff said. It's complicated. I've had enough time to convince myself I'm wrong, and I still don't. That's why I don't talk about it; it's easier not to. I don't know what else to tell you."

A dog barked in the distance, a breeze blew through, and there was a flapping of wings.

"At least you believed that he was innocent," Dave piped up. "My mom and dad...god, they believed all of that insane devil worship stuff. You guys left Hawkins right away. We stayed...for almost a whole year before they decided enough was enough. They made me get rid of all my DnD books, all of my tapes. Anything that could be tied back to Eddie. I didn't even...I couldn't even say hi to Wayne if we saw him at Bradley's."

He gestured a few feet away, to another headstone with Wayne's epitaph carved into it. It hadn't been a shock to see that the old man had died. But only a year and a half after Eddie? That had been a surprising sting that they'd all felt.

"You don't know how bad it got," Dave concluded solemnly. "We might have made it out right before the second quake hit, but they never let up. Eddie Munson's name was not to be mentioned again in our house. So be lucky that you had the choice of whether or not to think about him. Because I certainly couldn't."

There was a somber tone in the graveyard for a moment as they all reflected on their years spent apart.

Because, though the subject mainly rested on Eddie...there was also the unspoken accusation that they'd all also conscientiously needed to give each other up too.

30 years was a long time to grieve over a dead friend. But had they ever grieved the loss of one another?

It had been easy to reconnect, as though they'd never been apart. They'd been excited, eager to chat online. None of them had hesitated when the possibility of this pilgrimage arose, to see each other. Now, though? It was clear to see how far the trajectories of their lives had gone from one another.

Always the one to resolve conflicts between them, Jeff suggested that they move on to another topic of conversation: lunch.

Dave ran to get the cooler from the back of his truck. It was packed with sandwiches and beers and all manner of snacks.

All Eddie's favorites.

They set an old bandana onto the ground and piled it high with a ham and cheese sandwich and raspberry zingers and all sorts of little bites that they'd left behind in their youths once their metabolisms caught up to them.

"I don't think I've had a Mountain Dew in years," Dave stated after the most refreshing, crisp first sip of the bright green soda.

"Remember when you used to be able to burp the alphabet," Jeff chuckled.

"Remember when you used to have the most toxic dorito farts?" Gareth laughed at him. "Eddie almost kicked you out of the van that one time because you just ripped ass on the coldest day of the year and his windows were iced shut."

"Remember when he kicked you out of the van for..."

On and on they went then, reminiscing. Back to old times together, rather than lamenting over times apart. The topic, invariably, strayed back to Eddie.

"Did you guys ever..." Jeff trailed off, then shook his head. "Nevermind."

"What is it?" Dave asked.

"Nah, it's stupid."

"Come on, Davey and I almost fucking cried, full snot and all, in front of you. Don't get shy now," Gareth insisted.

Jeff sighed and settled into his lawn chair as he contemplated speaking his mind.

It was silly, foolish. The first time the thought had crossed his mind, he'd been young and stupid, and he'd missed his best friend. He'd even had a dream, once, and he'd woken up crying. After that, he'd decided that he needed to move on.

But here they were now, and there was no better time than to bring it up.

"Have you guys ever wondered...if he didn't actually die?" Jeff finally asked.

The other two men's heads snapped towards him and they gave him looks that definitely made him feel like he was insane.

So, he elaborated, "I mean, you've heard of witness protection and what not. This place was swimming with the feds. They never caught the copycat killer, right? Or so we know? What if Eddie was the next victim on the list? Or he saw who the real killer was? And so they hid him away."

Jeff tapped his fingers against the sides of his soda can nervously.

"What if he did exactly what all of us did? He left Hawkins and he never looked back," he concluded.

Dave and Gareth let out sighs of relief.

"Well, we know he never became a heavy metal star if that was the case," Gareth offered. "Could you imagine if he had? Lucky bastard, I would've had to kill him myself."

"Where do you guys think some alternate identity would've taken him?" Dave wondered. "Someplace cool, do you think?"

"They probably shipped him off to Alaska or something," Jeff scoffed.

"Oh he would've hated that," Dave laughed. "Do you remember when he'd need to go out for a cigarette in the winter? Almost lit his mittens on fire?"

Jeff got out of his lawn chair and hopped around like Eddie had on the porch of the trailer, trying to keep warm because he'd never bundled up properly.

"He'd hate to live someplace warm just as much," Gareth pointed out. "Remember how insufferable he'd be in the summer?"

"Wayne would tell him to get a hair cut so he wouldn't overheat?"

They all did silly impressions of him this time, laughing all the while.

They all fell back into their seats with a sigh.

"I...It's stupid," Jeff muttered. "I wouldn't give up my life...my family for anything. But there are just some days where I wish that he would've gotten to grow up with us too. He was my best friend, and I loved him so much. And I know you guys did too. I...he...he didn't deserve this." He gestured to the headstone. "So I hope that...that my silly thought is really what happened."

The other two muttered their agreements, and they knocked cans together in a salute to the missing piece of their puzzle.

There was a beat of silence before Dave piped up again.

"You know, that's not as crazy as what I thought you meant," he chuckled.

Jeff eyed him suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

Dave lifted his soda to his lips. "Nah, it's...I thought you were gonna ask if we thought he'd actually made a deal with the devil or something."

"See, this is what we get for hanging out together after a thousand years, I was thinking the same thing," Gareth agreed. "That Jeff was about to say that he was some kind of vampire or demon."

"Oh shit, or a necromancer. Actually that could've been cool!"

"Only Eddie could've thought about a vampiric, demonic necromancer," Jeff laughed along with them. "His own homespun version of Kas the Bloody Handed."

They all complained about the last campaign they'd played with Hellfire Club, Eddie's Cult of Vecna, and then agreed that they'd plan a night where they'd play some kind of RPG-type game over Skype, in his honor.

They stayed in the graveyard until the sky turned shades of pinks and yellows, and then they parted ways with more hugs and tears and promises not to wait another 30 years before they got together again. Then they drove off into the sunset, the perfect end to their perfect day.

A little modern Corroded Coffin AU with rockstar!Gareth with his drumtech!fem!reader with unrequited feelings, snarky!G areth, coworkers to lovers and some spicy spice ❤️‍🔥