You Creep

Eddie croaks out a raspy groan, rolling onto his side and blindly reaching out for the glass of water he’d had the foresight to leave on his bedside table. Pushing himself upright against the headboard, he brings the cup to his chapped lips, guzzling it down greedily to alleviate his cotton mouth. With his thirst now quenched Eddie places the glass back down, stretching out his arms, his shoulders clicking like they always do after another night on the lumpy mattress he should have replaced years ago.

It’s then that he becomes aware of it. The tent that’s formed beneath the thin sheet over his body. Eddie peels the cotton up, peeking under to be greeted by a large bulge in his boxers, a small damp stain darkening the pale grey fabric. He groans again, feeling the bulge throb with want.

Straining his ears, he hears no sign of movement from the rest of the trailer. The clock on his bedside table tells him it’s a little after eight. There’s no way that Steve will be awake yet, and even if he is he’s unlikely to be capable of moving off the couch, not with the amount he’d had to drink last night.

He could get away with it, no one’s going to catch him. He could be quiet, and quick, just get it over with. Or he could leave it, but the aching between his legs tells him that the problem is unlikely to go away on its own.

Pausing for one more moment, just to make sure there’s no sign of life from the living room, Eddie reaches hesitantly into his boxers, sighing with relief when his fist curls around his hot skin. He pulls his cock from the confines of his underwear, pushing the elastic waistband down until it slips just under his balls. The air meeting the wetness on his tip causes him to shudder, and he hisses through his teeth when he gives a slow tug to his length.

Usually, Eddie likes to take his time. On evenings alone in the trailer, he’ll kick back with a dirty tape shoved into the VCR, the windows closed in spite of the heat so he doesn’t have to worry too much about the volume. He gets a thrill from edging himself, working himself up until he’s right on the brink of his climax, before he grips the base of his cock, a firm squeeze staving off his release. He can repeat the cycle over and over, until his body shakes from the stimulation and the desperate need to cum. Only then does he let himself go, the release always sweeter when he’s had to wait for it.

But he doesn’t have that luxury now. He needs to get the job done, on the off chance that Steve wakes up. While he can’t reach for a video, he’s got a stack of magazines under his bed, a collection that’s been growing since he was a teenage ball of raging hormones. There’s no need for them to be hidden under his bed like some shameful secret, not now that he’s a grown man who lives alone. But they don’t seem like the kind of thing that you just leave laying around, so under the bed they stay, the pages a little sticky from years of use.

Eddie considers leaning over the side of the mattress and reaching under there for his stack. He could thumb through the pages, find an old favourite, lose himself in a familiar fantasy that has no hopes of ever coming true. But before he can grasp for those worn sticky pages, another thought comes to mind. His cheeks heat up, gut burning with guilt at the idea. But he can’t deny the way it has his cock kicking up in his hand.

Eddie leans back into the headboard, his thin pillows protecting the notches of his spine from the wood. He stares for a moment at his cock in his fist, trying to talk himself out of it.

It feels like crossing a line. Sure, this isn’t the first time the idea’s come to his head, but it’s the first time he’s come so close to following through on it. Usually he’d mentally chastise himself for being such a pervert, and resort to jerking off to the image of a stranger, some model spread out across the pages of Playboy, or an actress getting pounded on his TV screen by the pizza delivery guy.

But now, laying in his bed, skin coated in a thin sheen of sweat, Eddie’s losing his last shred of resistance. He gives another tug to his length, his eyelids fluttering closed as he pictures your pretty white sun dress, the hem lifted on the breeze. Another bead of precum oozes from his slit when he remembers the soft curve of your ass cheek, delicate peach lace laying tight over your skin.

“Oh fuck.” He hisses lowly, his thumb brushing over the throbbing head to swipe through the wetness there. His hips buck, and he lets out a surprised gasp. Everything feels so much more sensitive than usual. He could convince himself that it’s because it’s been a while, he hadn't had this kind of alone time for almost a week, nearly a record for him. But he knows that’s not the case. It’s because he’s thinking of you, and that fact destroys the last of the lingering guilt he harbours.

Eddie spits into his fist, letting the line of saliva drop and collect in his palm. He mixes it with the pearly precum now steadily leaking from his tip, using it to lubricate his length as his fist glides up and down over his searing skin.

If he’s already crossed the line of thinking about you, there’s no harm in divulging in a little fantasy, right? Eddie doesn’t stop to question the morality, letting his head thump back against the headboard as his eyes close.

His mind paints the prettiest picture for him.

You’re here, in his room, little white dress discarded somewhere and forgotten. On your knees in front of him, the thin straps of your peachy underwear sits high on the fat of your hips. His imagination fills in the blanks, a matching lace bra cradling your breasts, sheer enough for him to see your pebbled nipples poking through the fabric. You shift a little, thighs squeezing together, seeking friction.

“You all wet for me sweet girl?” Eddie murmurs, standing over you, his hand cradling your jaw as you tilt your head back and gaze up at him with those round doe eyes.

“Yeah.” You sigh dreamily, and Eddie’s cock twitches in his fist at the thought of a little dark patch forming on your panties. Maybe you’d even be dripping, creamy slickly coating the inside of those plush thighs.

“You gonna let me make you feel good?” Eddie says.

“Wanna make you feel good first.” You purr, your hand coming to rest over Eddie’s. You guide his palm along your jaw until the pad of his thumb brushes over your lips, velvety soft. Eddie pushes against your lips, and you part them willingly, letting his thumb press down on your tongue. You close your lips around him, humming in satisfaction as you swirl your tongue around the digit.

“Oh fuck, shit!” Eddie gasps, gripping the base of his cock. He’s panting, sweat beading along his hairline, his heart thumping in his chest so hard it threatens to break free of his rib cage. But he can’t cum yet. He needs to see this fantasy though to the end.

Eddie pulls his thumb from your mouth, shushing your whines of protest, and smears the wetness across your cheekbone in an almost tender touch.

Your dainty fingers reach out, taking hold of the elastic of his boxers, and you look up at him, the picture of innocence, waiting for permission.

“Go ahead.” He instructs.

You flash him that bright grin, the creases appearing at the corner of your eyes, and for a moment Eddie wants to stop you so he can smother your face in kisses, paying special attention to those little lines of joy. But that thought goes out the window when your hand wraps around his cock, struggling to close around his girth. It looks even bigger in your hands.

You envelop Eddie’s head in the wet heat of your mouth, your tongue dancing in sinful circles around the sensitive skin. Eddie groans, watching you pull back and release his cock with a pop, a string of saliva connecting your lips to him.

“S-spit on it Honey.” He pleads.

Eddie spits into his own palm once again, using it to mimic the feeling of you drooling on his cock. He fists his length a little faster, as the version of you in his mind takes him back into your mouth, using your hand to pump what your lips can’t reach.

“Fuck. That’s it. G-good girl. Good fucking girl.” Eddie moans to no one, his hips lifting from the mattress as he fucks into his fist harder.

You’re watching him the entire time, your eyes locked on his face as you choke on his cock hitting the back of your throat. Tears spill over your lash line, and Eddie catches them before they can roll down your cheeks, his thumbs brushing gently over your face.

As you continue to push yourself, taking more and more of his cock, your free hand snakes down, lifting the weight of Eddie’s sack in your palm. You roll his balls in your hand, giving a light squeeze, as Eddie cups his own hand under him, feeling his balls draw tight ahead of his release.

“M’gonna cum. F-fuck, you gonna let me cum in that pretty little mouth?” Eddie gasps.

You nod, opening your throat to let Eddie’s full length slip into your mouth, your nose buried in the trimmed curls at his base.

“Shit, oh my fucking god!” Eddie hisses, the muscles in his stomach tightening. In his mind he fills you, rocking his hips into your face as you eagerly swallow down every last drop he gives you.

Alone in his room, he hunches over himself, pearly cum shooting out across his abdomen and chest, splattering across his scarred skin.

Eddie’s chest heaves, and as he gulps down deep breaths he raises his clean hand to push his damp bangs away from his forehead. He looks down at the mess he’s made of himself, shocked by the sheer volume of it. He can’t remember the last time he came that hard.

A sound has his head snapping up to his bedroom door. Eddie holds his breath, wondering if maybe he imagined it. But then it comes again a few seconds later. A sweet, bright, airy giggle. Unmistakably you.

Eddie freezes, his blood running cold and limbs turning to lead. He should move, should cover himself, should do something, but he can’t. He just sits, tangled in sweaty sheets, goosebumps breaking out on his skin from the rapidly cooling spend splashed across him, and stares dumbly at the door.

Eddie hears the low rumble of Steve’s voice, followed by your slightly higher response. You’re too far away and too quiet to hear clearly, but you sound cheerful as ever, and Steve sounds worse for wear.

Your voices cease for a moment, and Eddie wonders for a second if he’s gotten away with it. Maybe you’ve gone back home. But instead of the click of his front door, Eddie hears the shuffling of footsteps on the threadbare carpet in the hall.

“Fuck. For fuck sake.” Eddie spits, looking around the room desperately for anything that could help. Should he grab that shirt on the floor and just throw it on? But what if you can see the damp patches through it? Maybe he should just use it to wipe himself off and throw it under the bed, but then he runs the risk of you coming in and seeing him without his shirt on.

In the end, he has time to do neither of those things, as there’s a soft tap on his bedroom door, three gentle knocks of your knuckles on the wood.

“Eddie?” You call out softly.

“You awake?”

Eddie clears his throat.

“Uh - yep! Just - just gimme a second!” He shouts.

“Okay.” You reply, followed by another damn giggle. Eddie’s cock twitches again at the sound, and he scowls down at his lap as though he could communicate the message to behave.

Running out of ideas Eddie grabs the top of the sheet he’d slept under, tugging it up to cover himself, and tucking the sides under his armpits.

“Y-you can come in.” He says shakily.

The door handle jiggles, you rattle it a few times before you finally get it open. It’s another thing on Eddie’s list of stuff to fix that he never quite gets around to in his own home. When you spend all day doing that stuff at work, the last thing you want to do it more of it in your spare time.

You push the door open, just enough to be visible to the boy still laying in his bed. Eddie blinks rapidly, surprised to see you in your pyjamas. Small white cotton shorts decorated with a repeated pattern of bright red cherries, and a matching cami, little white bows on the straps and - holy shit - you weren’t wearing a bra. Eddie’s brain short circuits at the sight, two little peaks where your nipples were pressed against the material. He manages to tear his eyes away, briefly looking down to check that his returning erection wasn’t visible.

“Good mornin’ sleepy head.” You smile. You rock up onto you tiptoes, your feet encased in fluffy pink slippers, bunny ears flopping down from the tops. You’re so adorable it makes Eddie sick.

“Morning.” He stammers in reply, clutching the sheet a little tighter to ensure that none of his scars are on show.

“I hope you don’t mind me coming over. Steve let me in.” You say softly.

“N-no I don’t mind at all. I’m just surprised Steve’s awake.”

“Hmmm, he’s awake but not fully functioning.” You chuckle.

“How’s Robin?” Eddie asks.

“Her heads a little sore. But I’ve got the perfect cure for that. S’actually why I came over.”

“Oh yeah? What’s this miraculous hangover cure?” Eddie grins.

“Pancakes! And lots of em. I’m gonna start cooking them in a bit, if you and Steve wanna come over?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, that sounds amazing. I’ll uh - I’ll get dressed and then grab Steve and we’ll head over.”

Your eyes glint with something wicked behind them, and the teasing smirk that you gave Eddie on the day you met returns.

“Get dressed? Mr Munson, are you trying to tell me that you’re naked under that sheet?”

Eddie’s cheeks turn scarlet, the blush creeping down his neck and over the little of his chest exposed above the sheet.

“I uh - w-well I wasn’t expecting you to-“

You cut him off with a laugh.

“I’m just messin’ with you Ed. I’ll see you in a bit yeah?”

“Yeah. Okay.” Eddie nods.

You pull the door closed behind you as you go. Eddie doesn’t move until he’s heard you say your goodbyes to Steve, followed by the click of the front door shutting. Only then does he let out a deep sigh, kicking the sheet off his body and grabbing the nearest item of dirty laundry from the floor to wipe himself down.

𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍

Steve, to put it mildly, looks like shit. When Eddie wanders through into the living room, cleaned off and dressed in sweat pants and an old Corroded Coffin vest, he finds his best friend sitting on the couch, his head dropped low between his spread knees.

“You alright man?” Eddie grins.

Steve let’s out a pained groan in response.

“You want some painkillers?” Eddie offers.

“You’re all out. I already looked.” Steve croaks.

“Oh shit, sorry bud. Honey’s probably got some. You ready to head over?”

“I don’t think I’m capable of walking that far.” Steve whines. He tilts his head back to look up at Eddie, his usually golden complexion pale with a grey tint, his eyes bloodshot and watery.

Eddie laughs softly, shaking his head. He extends his hand, and Steve begrudgingly takes it, letting Eddie pull him to his feet. He staggers a little, so Eddie keeps one arm held tight around the boys waist, and leads him over to the door.

Steve makes it all of two feet from Eddie’s porch before he hurls. Doubled over on shaking legs, he empties the mostly liquid contents of his stomach on the dead grass between Eddie and your trailers, as Eddie pats his back sympathetically.

“You boys alright?”

Eddie looks over his shoulder, giving Janet a thumbs up.

“He’s fine! Just had a little more than he could handle.” He calls back.

Janet smiles sympathetically, putting down the bunting she’d been winding around her wrist.

“I’ll come give you a hand tidying up in a bit.” Eddie offers.

“Don’t worry about it Ed. You heading over to see Honey?” She asks, her lips curling into a wry smile.

“Yeah, she’s making us breakfast.”

“Ugh, don’t talk about food.” Steve whimpers.

“Well have fun boys!” Janet laughs, going back to packing up the last of the decorations from the party.

Eddie just about manages to get Steve up the steps of your porch. With one hand still supporting his friends weight, Eddie curls the other into a fist and knocks gently on your door.

“Come in!” You call from inside.

The boys stumble in, Eddie nudging the door closed behind him with his foot. He kicks his sneakers off by the door, then guides Steve into the living room, plopping him down on your floral couch beside Robin. The girl leans over, resting her head on Steve’s shoulder, and the pair let out simultaneous groans.

“Still not feeling good Steve?” You ask from the kitchen. You’re still in your PJs, a plastic bowl tucked under your arm as you whisk thick pancake batter. You seem oblivious to the dusting of flour smeared on your cheek, and Eddie’s fingers itch to brush it away. But after his antics this morning alone in his room, he can barely bring himself to look at you, let alone touch you.

“He could do with some painkillers, if you’ve got some.” Eddie mumbles, looking down at his feet, his pinky toe poking through a hole in his sock.

“Of course!” You put down the pancake mix, rifling through a cupboard to locate a box of Tylenol. You pop out a couple of pills, then fill up a glass of cold water.

As you pass Eddie on your way into the living room you nudge your elbow into his ribs.

“You don’t have to stand. Make yourself at home Ed.”

He nods, taking a seat on the arm chair adjacent to the sofa. It’s another busy floral pattern, but it doesn’t match the couch, and the arms are worn and threadbare.

“Hey you go.” You murmur, dropping the pills into Steve’s palm. His hand shakes as he takes hold of the glass of water, so you keep your hold of the bottom of the glass to steady it as he takes a few deep gulps. When he’s finished you take it from him, placing it down on the coffee table, already marked with a patchwork of stains, so you don’t bother with a coaster.

You coo sympathetically, pushing back Steve’s hair. A small smile forms on his lips at the sensation of your cool palm resting on his forehead.

Eddie’s knuckles click. He flinches at the sound, unfurling the fists he didn’t realise he’d made and stretching out his fingers. He knows he has no right to be jealous. You can touch who you want, and it’s not like stroking your palm across Steve’s forehead was particularly salacious. But the gesture still has jealousy coursing through Eddie’s veins. He’d naively felt special yesterday, each time you held his hand or leant into his side had nurtured the bud of hope sprouting in his chest, a hope that maybe he’d finally found someone. Someone who could see him as more than a failure who repeated senior year twice, or a no good ex-drug dealer son of a criminal, or a satanic freak who’d been falsely accused of murder. In the brief time you’d know each other, Eddie had started to open up to you, revealing small parts of himself that he usually kept hidden, even from those closest to him. He might not have gotten to the big stuff yet, but there was a small part of him, a small green tendril in his chest reaching hopefully towards your sunshine, that believed he could do it, and that maybe you wouldn’t turn away from him.

But old habits die hard, and your hand on Steve’s forehead had all too familiar insecurities rearing their ugly heads. Of course Eddie wasn’t special. You were like this with everyone, you were warm and tactile and sweet. You probably wanted Steve anyway. Handsome, charming, wealthy Steve. He was everything that Eddie wasn’t.

You wander back into the kitchen, whisking the batter again, then rooting around in the cupboards, looking for a heavy cast iron pan.

Robin and Steve murmur to one another curled up on the couch, the girls head resting on Steve’s chest.

Eddie sits in the arm chair, his jaw clenched tight, losing himself in his spiralling negative thoughts. He’s so busy feeling sorry for himself he doesn’t hear you when you call his name.

“Dude.” Steve mumbles, swatting Eddie’s knee with the back of his hand.

“Huh?” Eddie says, frowning over at his friend.

Steve jerks his head in the direction of the kitchen.

You give Eddie a small wave.

“D’you mind giving me a hand?” You ask hesitantly.

“Oh. Sure.” Eddie says flatly, pushing up from the chair.

Two pans sit side by side on the stove, blue flames flickering under the iron. You pour a little oil into each pan, and it instantly starts to bubble and spit.

“Oh shit.” You hiss, turning the heat down.

Eddie lingers in the entrance to the kitchen, his arms folded tight over his chest.

“Can you do the bacon, while I cook the pancakes?” You ask, holding out a pair of plastic tongs.

Eddie takes them, giving you a quick nod and moving to stand in front of the hob. He peels a few rashers of bacon from the open pack you’ve left on the side, laying them down in the pan, being careful to avoid the hot fat spitting out at him. He can feel your eyes on him, and you move hesitantly as you grab the bowl of batter and a ladle.

With the kitchen being so small, there’s little room in front of the hob. You slide in next to Eddie, carefully spooning dollops of thick batter into the empty pan, your elbows tucked in awkwardly at your sides to avoid touching the boy beside you. With four pancakes filling the pan, you discard the bowl, grabbing a spatula for when they’re ready to be flipped.

“Are you okay?” You whisper, your eyes not leaving the pale puddles of pancake mix.

“M’fine.” Eddie grumbles. He uses the tongs to flip the bacon, the side now facing up turned golden brown, oil sizzling on the fat.

The two of you stand side by side in silence for a few more minutes. You wordlessly pass Eddie a plate when the first load of bacon is ready, and he tips the rashers out of the pan onto the porcelain, then loads the it back up with more strips.

Bubbles begin to form and pop in the centre of the pancakes. You slide the spatula under the first cake and flip it over expertly. After the flip, you tap the spatula on the cooked side of the pancake, a gentle slap with the plastic. Eddie thinks he imagined it at first, until you do it again to each disc in the pan.

“Why are you doing that?” Eddie asks quietly.

“What?” You say, still not looking up at him.

“Y-you’re.. smacking them with the spatula?”

“Yeah? You gotta spank the cakes.” You say seriously.

Eddie struggles to keep in his laugh. You snap your head in his direction, your brows furrowed in a deep frown, but you’re biting the inside of your cheeks to try and stop yourself from smiling.

“What’s so funny?”

“Why are you spanking pancakes?” Eddie chuckles.

“Because they taste better when you spank em!” You say incredulously.

“How can that possibly make a difference?” Eddie laughs.

“Look Munson,” you say, pointing the spatula at his chest. “I don’t make the rules. Fact is, you don’t spank your cakes, they don’t taste as good. Now do you want good pancakes or not?”

“I would like good pancakes.” Eddie replies, raising his hands in defeat.

“I thought so. Now get back to cooking that bacon before I spank you.” You grin.

Eddie chokes at your threat, and you lose your composure, laughing loudly as he splutters into the crook of his arm.

With his bad mood now forgotten, Eddie allows himself to relax and enjoy cooking with you. The side of your arm presses against his, bare skin on skin, warm and soft. You continue to spank your pancakes, and Eddie mimics you, giving each strip of bacon a smack with the tongs before he tips them onto the plate, relishing in the bright laughs it pulls from you.

It’s the kind of quiet, lazy Sunday morning Eddie could get used to. Your bunny slippers slap against your heels with every step, in time with the padding of Eddie’s socked feet on the scuffed vinyl floor, as the two of you dance around each other in the tight confines of your kitchen. The radio in your living room hums lowly, some sappy acoustic love song bleeding through the crackling static. Steve and Rob have succumbed to exhaustion, the boys head flopped back over the arm of your couch, Robin curled against his chest, a puddle of drool pooling beneath her cheek and dampening Steve’s shirt. You steal little glances over at them between flipping pancakes, your expression tender and warm, eyes kind, but not without a hint of something else behind them. There’s almost a sadness swirling in your gaze, a longing that pulls the corners of your mouth down when you see Robin shift in her sleep, Steve’s arm draped over her shoulders instinctively pulling her in closer. Whatever thoughts are clouding your mind have distracted you momentarily from your task, hand frozen in mid air, a half cooked cake waiting to be flipped on your spatula.

“Hey.” Eddie murmurs softly.

You blink rapidly, as though rousing from slumber, and drop the cake back into the pan with a quick flick of your wrist.

“The bacon all done?” you whisper.

“Yeah.” Eddie replies.

“Good. Well this is the last one. D’you wanna wake up the sleeping beauties while I dish up?”

Eddie nods, killing the flame beneath the bacon pan and discarding the tongs on the countertop. He’s about to wander into the living room, when he notices that same dusting of flour, still sprinkled across your cheek.

“Y-you, you’ve got a little-“

You tilt your face up to him, brows raised in curiosity.

“S’right there.” Eddie whispers, tapping his pointer finger to his left cheekbone.

“What is it?” You ask.

“Flour.”

You huff out a short breathy laugh, shrugging your shoulders.

“Sounds about right. I always make a mess. Can you get it for me?”

“W-what?” Eddie stammers.

“I don’t have any free hands Ed.” You reply, nodding down to your fingers, one set wrapped around the handle of the pan, the others gripping the plastic spatula. You say it like it’s obvious, like the only logical solution is for Eddie to put his hands on you. In reality, the pancake is perfectly cooked, in need of a spanking and removing from the heat, much longer and you run the risk of it burning. You could have a free hand in seconds.

But you just look up at him with that teasing smirk pulling at your lips, your eye brows wriggling in an invitation. No, it’s more like a dare.

Eddie’s fingertips twitch by his side. In his chest, that tiny green bud quivers with anticipation.

His movements are a little clumsy, he fumbles with his aim when he first reaches out for you, his fingertips awkwardly prodding against your cheek. You blink in surprise, but thankfully make no attempt to pull away, just stay perfectly still as he corrects himself. His fingers glide more smoothly this time, slotting neatly in the space below your ear, curling against the side of your neck and brushing the baby hairs at your nape, dampened a little from the heat. His thumb shakes as it brushes over your cheekbone, a featherlight touch, the calloused pad sweeping away the dusting of flour.

Your lips have parted into a soft ‘o’, a quiet gasp sucked in, then exhaled as a gentle breath. Your shoulders droop, and your head tilts ever so slightly, cheek nestling into the warm cradle of Eddie’s palm. Your sigh is water sprinkled over the green in Eddie’s chest, your honeyed gaze pure sunshine. The parched earth behind his ribs eagerly sucks in falling droplets, his hope blooms like a springtime flower, leaves unfurling and stretch up up up, reaching for the warmth of your rays.

The teasing glint in your eyes is gone, smirk erased by the unexpected tenderness of Eddie’s caress.

“Got it?” You breathe, fluttering those long lashes up at the boy.

“Not quite.” He lies, allowing himself a few more strokes over your cheek. You hum a pleased sound, the apples of your cheeks rounding beneath Eddie’s thumb when you smile lazily.

Your smile turns to confusion, nostrils flaring as you sniff in a sharp breath.

“Oh shit.” You mutter, regretfully pulling free of Eddie’s hold. His arm drops to hang limply at his side, his palm tingling.

You giggle melodically, flipping over the last pancake to reveal the blackened bottom, smoke rising from the pan and swirling in the hot air.

“Whoops.” Eddie grins.

“Whoops indeed.” You smile.

𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍

There’s not enough room at your small dining table to the whole group, so you eat in the living room, plates piled with thick fluffy pancakes and rashers of crisp bacon balanced on your laps. Robin and Steve stay huddled together on the sofa, and at your insistence Eddie goes back to the arm chair. You drag a chair from the dining table in to sit next to him, and hold out a bottle of syrup.

Eddie takes it, squeezing a generous dollop over the top of his stack before passing it over to Steve.

Initially everyone’s too tired to talk and eat. The four of you focus on digging into your breakfast, cutlery clinking quietly against plates. After a few mouthfuls, it seems that the food begins to revive Steve and Robin, who chat more animatedly with every bite. A miracle hangover cure indeed.

“These are so good!” Robin says through a mouthful.

Steve nods in agreement, shovelling forkfuls into his mouth at break neck speed.

You turn to Eddie, wiping a smear of syrup from the corner of your lips.

“What’s your verdict Ed?”

“They’re great. The spanking definitely makes a difference.” He grins.

“Told you.” You reply.

When all the plates are empty, and everyone’s settled back with a fresh cup of coffee (far less bitter than the stuff Eddie buys, and he makes a mental note to treat himself to the same brand), the conversation turns to work. Steve laments about a day of back to back meetings waiting for him tomorrow, and Eddie joins in his complaining, grumbling about the plumbing issue he’s got to fix at The Hideout tomorrow.

“You’ll need a hazmat suit if you’re going to working in those bathrooms.” Robin grimaces.

“What about you Honey? You haven’t told us what you do.” Steve asks.

You blow gently over the side of your mug, cooling your steaming coffee enough to take a small sip.

“I start my new job tomorrow, at Hawkins Elementary.”

“Oh, you’re a teacher?” Robin asks.

You shake your head.

“No. Well, yes, I mean - I’m qualified to teach. They don’t have any teaching posts available right now, just a job in reception. Someone’s due to retire next year though, so when the principle interviewed me she said I can take over when they’re gone.”

“That’s good.” Steve says with a kind smile. You nod, taking another sip of your drink.

“Did you teach back in Chicago?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, second grade. I loved it, they were a really sweet bunch of kids.”

“Would you ever go back? To Chicago I mean.” Steve says.

“No.” You say determinedly, shaking your head.

“You didn’t like it there?”

“I loved growing up there, I do miss it sometimes. B-but I wouldn’t go back.”

“Why’d you leave?” Steve presses.

Your posture stiffens, spine pressing straight against the back of the chair. Eddie notices your knuckles whitening from how hard you squeeze the mug in your hands, but the tension is missed by the others.

“Yeah, it’s fucking boring here. I’d much rather live in a city.” Robin drawls.

Eddie couldn’t say he disagrees, Hawkins was boring, at least now. But he’d take boring any day over the chaos that engulfed the small town just a few years ago.

You give a small shrug of your shoulders, your bottom lip turning pink from where you chew at it.

“I just fancied a change.” You say quietly, staring down at the cup resting on your lap.

Eddie shoots a warning glare at Steve and Robin, and they thankfully take the hint, quickly steering the conversation to another topic. The damage has been done though. You still join in with the lighthearted chatter, but it’s obvious that your mind is elsewhere, your responses languid and vague. The tension doesn’t leave your body, and you inch back into a protective shell, curled in on yourself, your hands trembling each time you raise your coffee to your lips.

𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍

A little after ten, Steve and Robin excuse themselves, thanking you for your hospitality.

“Anytime.” You say, with a forced smile, letting yourself be pulled in for a hug sandwiched between the two of them. Steve gives Eddie a small wave as he follows Robin out your front door to his car.

You close the door behind them, sighing deeply, shoulders dropping.

“Are you alright?” Eddie whispers.

You turn to face him, giving him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I’m fine.” You lie.

Eddie nods, not wanting to push you further.

“Maybe I should head off too.”

“Do you want another coffee?”

The pair of you falter at having spoken at the same time.

“Oh. S-sure.” You say, disappointment evident in your tone.

“I can stay.” Eddie interjects quickly.

With your head ducked down so Eddie can’t clearly see your face, you stoop to collect the dirty plates from the coffee table.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I do! I do want to, I mean.”

When you dare a glance up at him you’re met with an earnest expression, his chocolate eyes round and almost pleading.

“Okay. If you’re sure.” You relent, finally cracking a smile that feels genuine.

Eddie exhales a sigh of relief. You wander into the kitchen, dropping the dirty dishes into the sink as you wait for the coffee pot to heat up.

“Let me help.” Eddie offers, scrambling from the arm chair. He shushes you when you try to stop him, nudging you away from the sink with a playful bump of his hip.

He fills the bowl with warm water, adding a squeeze of dollar store dish soap, shining suds bubbling up and covering his forearms when he slips his hands in. As he scrubs at the plates and cutlery you make a start on tidying the rest of the kitchen, grabbing the bag of flour and squatting down beside Eddie to put it away in the cupboard to his left.

“Glad to see that you’ve managed to keep that door on.” Eddie teases.

You tut, rolling your eyes at him.

“If it fell off again I’m pretty sure that would be down to your shoddy craftsmanship Munson.” You reply dryly.

“Sho- shoddy craftsmanship?” Eddie exclaims indignantly, pressing a soapy hand to his chest.

“It remains to be seen if the quality of your work will stand the test of time.” You grin.

“I’ll have you know sweetheart, I come highly recommended. Best handyman in Hawkins.”

“You should paint that on the side of your van.”

“Hmmm. Would probably ruin my very metal image if I did.”

“I don’t know about that.” You smirk, leaning back against the worktop with your arms folded over your chest.

“I think the hair and the tattoos do a pretty good job on their own.”

Eddie’s cheeks flush, feeling your eyes roam over the exposed skin of his arms, lingering on the patches of dark ink. You take a step closer, your pointer finger tracing the lines of the heart inked on his bicep, a scroll stretched across with thin lettering contained within.

“April.” You hum.

Eddie’s hands cease to move in the murky water, the sponge held limply between his fingers.

“She your girlfriend?” You ask, a little bitterly.

Eddie scoffs, shaking his head.

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” He murmurs.

“S’my moms name.”

“Oh.” You sigh, your expression quickly turning from sour to fond. You give a gentle squeeze to his arm, your palm just below the heart.

“That’s beautiful Ed.”

The boy nods, unsure of what else to say, and knowing that the lump that’s formed his throat would turn any words he could utter to a strained squeak. You release his arm, leaving him to the dishes so you can wipe down the countertops.

𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍

One more coffee turns to three, and Eddie’s not sure if the buzzing he feels in his veins is a rush from the caffeine, or from being in your space so casually. The morning bleeds into early afternoon, hours whiled away with quiet conversation.

Eddie soaks in every moment in your home. He listens intently as you speak, while his eyes drink in every small detail he can gleam from your belongings.

He learns that you’re sentimental, treasuring old, well loved objects in place of anything shining and new. The antique scales in the kitchen, a gift past down from your GramGram, the person who taught you to bake. No CD player, just a collection of old vinyls, their cardboard sleeves worn and peeling at the corners. Eddie bemoans your lack of metal, promising to share with you his own collection so you can listen to some ‘real’ music. Sitting at either end of your tattered couch, you fiddle with the corner of a lilac fleece, the edges of the blanket baring loose threads, a small hole here and there.

The conversation has lulled, but the silence is comfortable, only broken by the continued static and soft music from the radio. Your bunny slippers have been kicked off, legs stretched out across the couch so your bare toes press against Eddie’s socked ones. You grin when you nudge his exposed pinky toe, and he chuckles shyly, still getting used to the way you touch him so casually, as if your skin on his was no big deal.

“M’sorry, about earlier.” You say quietly.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks.

“With Robin and Steve. I’m sorry if I made things.. awkward? When they were asking me about Chicago.”

Eddie shifts a little in his seat, pressing the sole of his feet against yours, a reassuring action that has the corners of your mouth twitching up despite the darkness in your eyes.

“It’s okay.” He says.

“You didn’t make things awkward at all.”

You nod, grateful for his words even if you don’t entirely believe them. Reaching across to the coffee table you grab your mug, relaxing back against the arm of the couch. You tap your fingers against the side of the porcelain in a nervous beat, your eyes cast down to the caramel liquid inside.

“S’just hard for me to talk about, that’s all.” You whisper.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. B-but if you do want to talk about it, I’m here.” Eddie offers. He spins the thick bands of silver decorating his hands, matching your anxious fidgeting.

A pregnant pause stretches out, the silence feeling heavier than it did before. You finally break it with a sigh.

“I left someone behind, in Chicago.” you say.

The hopeful green in Eddie’s chest quivers, the leaves curling in on themselves at your loaded admission. You don’t need to clarify the nature of the relationship for Eddie, your heartbreak is written all over your face.

“It wasn’t… we just-“ you cut yourself off with another sigh, more frustrated this time, and you rake a hand through your hair, tugging at the roots.

“I just needed to leave.” you mutter.

Eddie nods solemnly, struggling to find any words of comfort for you when he doesn’t fully understand. You’ve given him little to go on, but it’s enough to have a heavy stone of disappointment dropping in his stomach. You left someone behind. Someone you clearly loved. And despite your insistence earlier, the look on your face has Eddie doubting whether you would really be able to resist going back, leaving Hawkins, and him, nothing but a small bump in the road of your life.

“Get a grip.” His mind whispers, mentally scolding himself for feeling so attached to you when he’s known you all of five minutes.

“Anyway,” you say, your voice a little brighter, your forced smile returning.

“Tell me about your love life Ed. Is it as tragic as mine?”

Non-existent would be a more apt description, Eddie thinks.

“Pretty much.” He mutters.

“Oh come on.” You scoff.

“There’s got to be someone?”

“Nope.” Eddie insists with a shake of his head.

“You’re telling me you don’t have pretty girls lining up the block for you?” You tease, flexing your toes where they’re pressed to Eddie’s.

“Why would I?” Eddie laughs, relieved that your mood seems to be improving.

“Because you’re cute.” There’s an implied ‘duh’ at the end of your statement, as if Eddie were being wilfully ignorant to the fact.

He grabs a handful of his curls, tugging the locks over the bottom half of his face to hide his giddy grin.

“Stop it.” He groans.

“No I will not stop it.” You bite back playfully, hiding your own giggles behind your hands.

Eddie’s not sure if you’re aware of the effect you have on him, the way you can have the flowers behind his ribs wilting one moment, then stretching up tall to reach your warmth in the next. It’s dizzying and exhausting, this push and pull that he can’t help but let himself get sucked in by, despite it going against every natural instinct in his body. Eddie hasn’t made a new friend in years, he sticks to those he already trusts, the people who stood by him when the world fell apart with him at the epicentre of the implosion.

He’s even less likely to let himself fantasise about what it would be like to have someone who was more than a friend. No woman in Hawkins would look twice at him, not with his reputation, and even when his band travelled to nearby cities and towns to play, and women unaware of who he was would flirt and tease, Eddie couldn’t let himself believe that it was genuine. Years of being told he was nothing had taken it’s toll. Too dumb to graduate, trailer trash that would never amount to anything more, a broken boy littered with hideous scars, evidence of a time this town would never let him forget. He was a freak. Nothing more.

Set Adrift on Memory Bliss fades out on the radio, the DJ announcing that the day has reached 2pm, he’ll be back after a few advertisements from local businesses. Eddie pulls his legs back from you, his hips clicking when he turns his body to place his feet down on the floor.

“I should head out. You’ve probably got some stuff to do for your new job.” He says.

“Okay. Yeah, I’ve got a few bits to sort out.” You reply.

Eddie stands, making his way to your door and shoving his feet back into his sneakers.

You’ve followed behind him, leant against the wall, the baseball bat resting between your legs and the plaster.

“Well, thanks for coming over. It was nice.” You say shyly, fiddling with the frills that adorn the hem of your shorts.

“I should be thanking you. For breakfast, and everything. Best pancakes I’ve ever had.” Eddie smiles.

Your face flushes at the praise.

“M’glad you liked them.”

“I really did. I’ll uh- I’ll see you around I guess?”

“Yeah. See you around Eddie.”

You close the door behind him, going to get yourself organised for the week ahead.

𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍

The days in Hawkins begin to fly by once you start work. You fall into a routine quickly, cycling across town early in the morning when the air is thankfully a little cooler. You arrive before the kids, making small talk with the teachers over coffee in the staff room, collecting shreds of small town gossip about people you don’t know. Then you settle in at your desk, ready to get on with your assigned tasks. It’s easy work, largely consisting of answering calls, recording absences and arranging meetings for the principle, occasionally copying a stack of worksheets for a teacher and then walking them down to their classroom. One afternoon you’d popped your head around the door of Ms Jonas’s first grade class, delivering a few packs of brightly coloured sugar paper that she’d asked for.

“Honey! Hey!”

You’re startled by hearing your name, head snapping to the left to see Lizzie bouncing in her small plastic chair, eagerly waving at you.

“Elizabeth. That’s not how you address adults at school is it?” Ms Jonas corrects, not unkindly.

“Oh, sorry ma’am.” Lizzie says with a nod.

You give her a little wave and a smile in return anyway, and she beams at you as you slip back out of the class.

Later that afternoon, after the final bell had rung, she appeared in the doorway to your office to present you with a gift. A wonky collage of sugar paper flowers, pink and purple petals still wet from her heavy hand with the glue.

“Thank you Lizzie! That’s beautiful.” You gasp, heart welling with joy.

“You’re welcome.” The girl smiles, tugging at the straps of her backpack.

“You’d better head outside, your mom will be wondering where you are.” You say.

Lizzie nods, turning on her heels to leave. She pauses in the doorway.

“I don’t have to call you ma’am when we’re at home, do I?” She asks.

“No.” You laugh. “Just in school. I’m Honey at home.”

“Good. See you later, ma’am.” She grins, emphasising your title.

“See you later. Now go on, don’t keep your momma waiting.” You tell her.

Her picture takes pride of place, taped on the wall behind your desk. It brightens up the drab decor nicely, along with your pastel coloured stationary and your framed photo of you and Baby, your desk is starting to feel like your own space.

By the time you cycle home each evening you’re exhausted, your body not used to being back into a busy routine of work. Most nights you can’t even be bothered to cook, picking at a cheap microwave dinner, then collapsing into your bed, sleep finding you easier than it has in months.

Despite saying that you’d see each other around, you haven’t bumped into Eddie since you started your job. Most mornings when you set off on your bike, his van was still parked up beside his trailer, and when you returned it was gone. You’d hear the rumble of the engine a while later, when he pulled up into the space between your homes, but he never came over, and you were too tired to go see him. Not that you were sure what you’d even say if you did. You considered him a friend, but did he feels the same about you? Maybe he’d just been nice to you out of the kindness of his heart, feeling sorry for the new neighbour living on her own with no friends or family around. He might think it odd for you to just turn up on his doorstep, asking to hang out. So you stayed away.

𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍

Friday afternoon finally rolls around, the promise of a lay in the next morning getting you through the last hours of your shift. You wearily pack up your belongings, swinging your satchel over your aching shoulders and make your way to the staff exit. You give one last wave to the janitor as he vacuums the staff room, but he doesn’t hear your call goodbye over the hum of the machine, and the music blaring through his headphones.

When the door swings open you’re met with a downpour, heavy grey clouds spilling fat droplets that splash against the concrete. It should be a welcome sight after such a long dry summer, the scorched grass that lines the front of the school begging for some sustenance. But it only fills you with dread, knowing that you’ll be soaked in seconds, making your already exhausting journey home that much harder with cold heavy clothing clinging to your skin. With a sigh you let the door slam behind you.

The air is thick and hot with humidity, and the warm rain that showers over you does little to ease the discomfort of the heat. By the time you reach your bike your shoes are squelching under your feet, hair clinging to your neck and forehead. Satchel dumped in the basket at the front of your bike, you turn your attention to the lock, slippery fingers fumbling to turn the combination.

“Fuck sake, c’mon.” You groan.

In the distance a vehicle approaches, the engine growing louder over the soundtrack of water splashing on the ground around you. You pay it little mind, until you realise that you recognise the sound, a tell tale rattle that halts when the van comes to a stop beside you.

“Honey?”

“Hey Ed.” You smile, pushing dripping hair out of your face to see the boy looking at your through his open window. He surprises you by swinging open the door, jumping out into the downpour, rain instantly soaking his curls and weighing them down.

“What’re you doing?” You ask, taking a step back when Eddie takes the handle of your bike, wheeling it away to the back of the van.

“Giving you a lift home.” He explains, lifting the bike up into the back of the vehicle and slamming the doors closed behind it.

“You don’t have to do that Eddie.” You protest.

“Well why wouldn’t I? I’m going that way anyway.” He grins.

Mumbling your thanks you run around to the passenger side, exhaling a sigh of relief when you settle into your seat, raindrops pinging on the roof, now unable to reach you. It smells like Eddie inside, spicy cologne, leather, cigarettes. You silently pray that some of the scent will linger on your damp skin after you leave.

You quietly take in your surroundings as Eddie pulls away. It’s messy, but not dirty, more of an organised chaos. Cassette tapes crammed into empty spaces on the dash, a few more piled at your feet. An empty 7-Eleven Slurpee takes up one cup holder, the other home to loose change, a cheap plastic lighter, a couple of dice with too many sides. The dash is decorated in stickers, various symbols and slogans, a few band names you recognise that don’t surprise you in the slightest, given Eddie’s previous moaning about your lack of metal records. One does catch your eye though, and you trace your finger across the smooth black vinyl.

“Corroded Coffin. You have that on a shirt right?” You ask.

“I do.” Eddie nods, a glimmer of a smile on his lips from you remembering the small detail.

“Are they your favourite band?”

“N-not exactly. It’s uh - it’s actually my band.” He admits sheepishly.

“You’re in a band?” You ask eagerly, turning in your chair to face him, and give him a playful punch on the arm.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Didn’t know if you’d be interested. I’m sure it’s not really your thing.” Eddie says.

“Of course I’m interested! That’s so cool, what do you play?”

“Lead guitar. And… I sing.”

It’s a revelation really, to imagine shy, sweet Eddie Munson up on a stage. Electric guitar strapped over his broad shoulders, fingers gliding deftly over the frets, lips pressed to a microphone while he croons for an adoring crowd. The mental image you conjure of him sweating beneath bright stage lights has your thighs squeezing together.

“Wow. You’re just full of surprises huh?” You grin.

Eddie squirms, nervous under your attention.

“We’re not that good.” He mumbles.

“Don’t put yourself down like that Ed. I bet you’re great! I’d love to see you play some time.”

“Really?” He asks.

“Really.” You confirm.

“Well we’re actually playing tomorrow night. At The Hideout, that bar I was working at earlier this week.”

“Can I come along?” You ask.

Eddie grins as he swings the van around the bend that leads into the trailer park.

“Of course you can. I’d really like that.”

“Awesome. What time should I get there?”

“We’re on at nine. I’d offer you a ride but I have to get there early to set up and stuff. I’ll ask Steve to pick you up on his way.”

“You don’t have to do that Ed, I can get a cab.” You protest.

Eddie shakes his head, slowing the vehicle to a stop between your homes.

“Nah, don’t do that. He owes me anyway for crashing at mine, he won’t mind.” He insists.

“Well if you’re sure, that’s be great.” You smile.

The rain hasn’t let up, large puddles forming on the previously bone dry earth.

“You ready?” You ask with a grin.

“M’ready.” Eddie smiles back.

The two of you jump from the van simultaneously, splashing through pooled water to run to the back. Eddie yanks open the door to retrieve your bike, placing it down against your porch as you hurry up the steps to hide under the cover above.

“Thanks Eddie!” You yell over the din of the downpour.

“No problem! See you tomorrow!” He shouts back, waving at you over his shoulder as he runs to his own home.

Inside you kick your sneakers off, wet socks squelching as your jog through to your room, keen to get out of your wet clothes and change into something dry and comfortable. You’d planned on having a chilled evening, shower, then dinner, then bed, curled up beneath the covers with a good book. But now you had other plans.

Eddie lays sprawled out across his couch, some show playing on the TV that he was barely paying attention to, a half smoked joint between his lips. He’d tried to get out of the habit of smoking inside, but the weather had put him off, the wind picking up enough to have the rain falling sideways, so he’d surely still get wet even under the porch roof. The pinging of raindrops hitting the top of the trailer provides a soothing white noise, and Eddie’s spent the last twenty minutes fighting the droop of his eyelids, a busy day at work having his body aching, tired limbs crying out for the comfort of his bed.

A loud knock has him jolting upright, the distinct sound of knuckles tapping out a short beat on his front door. He hurries to stand, leaving the joint resting on the edge of the ashtray.

When he swings the front door open he’s surprised to find that no one is there. His stomach flips immediately. Was this some kind of set up? Was someone waiting to jump out at him, hurl verbal abuse that he’s grown all too used to his way. Or worse.

Eddie takes a step back, about to slam the door closed when he sees it.

A plate resting on the muddy door mat, water pooled in the dents in the tin foil that covers it. Eddie picks it up, glancing around the dark park for any sign of who might have left it, but there’s not a soul to be seen.

He closes the door, carrying the plate through to the kitchen. There’s a note on top, taped down to keep it from blowing away in the wind.

Eddie lifts the foil, smiling broadly when he sees what’s beneath. A stack of thick sliced brownies, still warm from the oven, gooey chocolate chips melting and shining.

He unfolds the note, finding elegant black lettering, a few words smudged from the rain.

Thanks again for the ride home! You’re my knight in shining armour denim. I told you I make a mean brownie, hope these live up to your high standards. See you tomorrow rockstar.

𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍

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You’d situated yourself at one end of the couch when you two returned inside, while Eddie had seated himself on the opposite end. Initially, you’d been disappointed, worried about that sudden distance. But the distance disappeared rather quickly as Eddie had fully turned his body, back against the armrest and legs spread out of that empty space, and encouraged you to do the same. A messy entanglement of knees and ankles and calves all pressed together, touching at every interval possible. Anywhere your leg could manage to graze his, it was. A plethora of gentle and minuscule touches, all adding up to something bigger – something that still grows in your chest amongst the vines and beneath his waves.

It was the very thing that made this easy. It wasn’t awkward, neither of you seemed uncomfortable given that the last time you’d used this couch, it had been in very delicate and very different circumstances. 

It was all part of being his friend. You were Eddie’s friend. 

“Don’t be so condescending,” Eddie’s scowl is adorable, tugging on every infantile bloom gathered on the greenery in your chest. 

Boundaries. Your lungs and your vines and your bones had found respectable boundaries amongst themselves, and it was finally easier to breathe around Eddie again.

“I’m not!” you shift your legs, sliding your bare skin against that of his flannel pajamas. He’s quick to wrap a hand around your ankle, thumb pressing into the hard bone as if he’s scared you’re about to run from him again. You’re not; you’re not sure how to convince him, but you can’t imagine there’s anything he could tell you now to send you running once more, “I liked the movie, Eddie. It was… it was really good.” 

You’re a terrible liar. You can’t remember half the movie. All you can remember is the way Eddie would animatedly add commentary for you, how there had been a point in the movie the two of you paused for nearly fifteen minutes for him to go on a ramble of his explanation as to why he’d named his bike Nightfury (as if it hadn’t been obvious from the way his face lit up the moment Toothless appeared on screen). All you can remember is how you only wished the movie would never end, so the look on his face would never fade. 

“Tell me your favorite scene,” he demands with a knowing smirk. He knows you didn’t pay attention. 

“You know…” you pause, racking your brain for a single scene to mention, “The… one…”

“Go on,” he scoots his heels back towards him, elevating his knees so he can prop his elbows up on them and cradle his face mockingly, acting completely enthralled by whatever your answer may be, “The one…?” 

You panic, blurting out, “The one with the dragon.” 

You miss the pressure of his thumb on your bones. A physical reminder of his grip on you, not just all mumbled metaphorical ones that now reside in you.

“Half the movie was scenes with a dragon.” 

“The one where he’s training the dragon.” 

That earns a cackle from him. One that pulls from his chest, sends him leaning back from his sarcastic pose and makes him squint his eyes until crinkles appear beside them. You almost consider counting each laugh line, but just as quickly as they appeared, they disappeared. 

“Awesome,” he breathes out, stretching his legs out, bumping them back against yours once more, “So specific. You should really be a professional movie critic, you know that?” 

“Oh, yeah,” you nod giddily, “Feast your eyes, pretty boy. The next Robert Ebert in the making.”

He’s red. Terribly, terribly red. It’s not a surprise he fights fire with fire as he replies, “Sweetheart, respectfully… who the fuck is Robert Ebert?” 

It’s your turn for your cheeks to burn. You’re unsure if he catches it, the flash of sudden shyness at that nickname now. It once sent rage burning down your throat, but you now revel in it. You’d burn for it. 

“You’re killing me here, handsome,” that does the trick – a small squeak sounds off from deep within his throat, and he tries to cover it with a cough, “He was a famous movie critic. My newest role model.”

You expect him to go on with the bit, to force your hand and make you expand on it. Your mind is already reeling with ways to insert more innuendos, more nicknames, more ways to drive him as insane as you already had become thanks to him. It was only fair that you return the favor. 

He doesn’t. 

He’s like a schoolboy, fidgeting beneath your attention. You swear you feel a tremor in his legs that are tangled with yours properly again, and when he grabs your ankle, when he gives it another squeeze and he lays his thumb into that bone again as if he might find a divot specifically worn out just for him, you realize he’s not going to go along with the bit. Your innocent nickname has left him defenseless. Flustered, vibrant pink and crimson red from the bridge of his nose to the tops of his ears. 

Oh, this is fun. 

You move the foot he’s not holding onto for dear life, shifting it too quick for him to stop you before you sharply prod his exposed stomach with your toes, “Earth to Eddie?” 

He jumps at the contact. It happens so fast, you almost can’t keep track of him with your eyes as he’s sporadically jumping up off of the couch, away from your foot and legs and you. 

Oh, that’s not fun. 

“We should watch another movie,” No, we really shouldn’t. “How’s Scream sound?” 

He doesn’t even let you answer him, already rushing towards the entertainment center and dropping into a crouch before the shelves holding some of his movies. His hand moves to his knee, the hand that had once held to your bone, the one that burned a lingering touch into it, and you watch as his fingers start to tap along to a silent beat. 

A clear sign of anxiety. Even if you hadn’t come to observe Eddie and learn his ins and outs over the last seventeen hours, you’d know he’s on edge. 

“What are you doing?” you baldly ask him, in no mood to beat around the bush. 

He’s on edge. All you did was call him handsome, and he’s on fucking edge. 

“What do you mean?” he asks over his shoulder, not even so much as looking at you as his fingers trail along the spines of titles, occupying himself with finding a movie you still hadn’t agreed to. 

You sit up on your knees, kneeling on the cushions. It almost reminds you of when your knees had last pressed into this couch, “I mean, why the fuck did you get up like that?” 

“Like what?”

It’s funny, how easily your previously warm contentment can start to fan into flames of agitation.

“Oh, Jesus-” you cut yourself off, standing just abruptly as he had. You walk with purpose towards him, and he finally turns his face to look at you, “What did I do? Did I cross a line?” 

His brows furrow, “What?”

You wave your hand towards the couch, finally stopping off beside him, cocking a hip to accommodate your other hand that rests on it, “The way you just- we were just sitting there and talking and you just-” 

You just completely pulled away from me. Physically, yes, but I’m terrified it also be emotionally. You pulled away, and it feels an awful like you’re running away. 

All the words you can’t say – all the words you don’t know how to say. 

“You jumped up like I said something wrong,” you quietly finish the thought only half truthfully. It’s better than nothing. It still offers a sliver of honesty. 

“You didn’t say anything wrong,” he remains crouched, looking up at you with big and wide eyes, face smoothing into shock, “I just… I want to watch another movie.”

“I thought we were past that.”

“Past what?”

“Lying.”

His blush lingers and so does the tapping of his fingers, “Why do you think I’m lying? I’m being serious – you didn’t do anything wrong! I just… You said you haven’t seen Scream, and mentioned something about killing, so I thought-” 

“And if I don’t want to watch another movie?” you drop to your knees beside him, and he physically retracts, “See! Jesus Christ, Eddie, be honest with me right now or so help me God-”

“I have been plenty honest tonight, thank you very much,” he scowls immediately. You scoot closer to him on your knees, and this time, he isn’t flinching away, “You didn’t do anything wrong, alright? I… It’s me. My problem, I’ll deal with it. Please just… let me deal with it, okay?” 

“Deal with what-”

It’s your fault, really. You scoot even closer on your knees, you’re ignoring the carpet burn sure to remain, when your balance fails you. One moment, you feel as though you have the upper ground with him and this entire argument, and the next you’re falling forward. 

You’re falling forward, and Eddie doesn’t hesitate to earnestly attempt to stop your collision with his floor. Attempt being the key word. 

It happens slow enough that both of you should have been able to stop it, in retrospect. Because Eddie is successful in catching your elbow, pausing the fall momentarily before he loses his own balance. He falls onto his ass and out of his crouch with a soft oomph, eyes widening comically before he’s collapsing backwards and dragging you with him. Your body drapes over him, cheek pressing into his bare chest, and neither of you move for a second. 

A familiar position. From the first few hours, when Eddie had tried to wrestle his damn porn magazine from you. That warm weight that once rested between your hips now digging into him, ribcages once more pressing together with erratic heartbeats pounding against each other through walls of flesh. 

You don’t move at first, keeping your face smashed into his chest. The perfect role reversal. At least his face isn’t in your boobs this time.

“I…” Oh, it’s painful to hold in your laughter, words choking up as your mouth quivers in the force of fighting a shit-eating grin, “I-I’m sorry.” 

He’s quick to recognize your amusement, “Don’t you dare laugh.”

“I’m not going to!”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Bullshit,” he shifts beneath you, sitting up and bringing you back up with him. His arms are loose around your waist as you slide off of him and sit onto the floor beside him, “Who’s the liar now?” 

Another twitch of your lips, another glare shot your way, “I’m…” He raises his eyebrow in a dare, “Okay, yeah, I was going to laugh.” 

“Fuckin’ knew it.” 

He’s still wrapped around you, even as you sit side by side. Awkward angles and all, he’s clinging to you just as he did on the couch. As if he always needs to be touching you now, as if that line being crossed has made him open his eyes to a million realizations and opportunities. 

When he’s not running away, of course. 

You want to bring it up, reiterate that you’d like to know what exactly Eddie was ‘dealing with’ as he so eloquently put it. But you can’t, especially not when his thumb finds your soft skin beneath his shirt and strokes it thoughtlessly. An instinct. You wonder if he’s even conscious of it, if he even knows the effect it’s having on you. 

Can he hear your heart when he’s this close? Can he hear it’s thunder that shakes your very foundations? 

“I was serious,” you finally speak up, realizing you two have spent far too long sitting on his living room floor and just looking into each other’s eyes. If past you knew you ended up in this position, she would have been disgusted, not fawning. “I don’t feel like another movie.”

“Even Scream?” 

“Even Scream.” 

It’s a hard sentiment to force out, because the idea of getting to sit through another few hours of watching Eddie glow with excitement, to watch his expressions as he tumbles over words of adornment for something he loves and is passionate about, is tempting. But you’re pretty sure if you end up on that couch again, his thumb stroking your ankle as he attempts to keep your attention tethered to a motion picture you could never follow along with sincerely, you’ll just fall asleep. 

Sleep deprivation is a bitch. 

“What do you want to do instead?” he asks you. He makes no move to stand; you don’t either. 

Your eye trails over the entertainment center to avoid his stare, when something catches your eye on the shelf above the movies, “You never did tell me who Deftones are.”

Eddie glances at the shelf of CDs that caught your eye, “You… want to listen to Deftones right now, rather than watch Scream?” 

“Yes. I want you to rock my world with Deftones right now rather than watch Scream.”

“What about sleep?”

“What about it?”

“Do you not want to rest? They never said we couldn’t. Actually, right now, they’re assuming we are.”

Amongst the quick back and forth, you have to bite your tongue. You want to scream, no. No, I don’t want to sleep, because if I sleep, I’m missing this. I may never get this again; I can’t risk this. 

You shrug, and stand as his arms fall from around you. You miss that weight – you always miss the fucking weight of him. Just like a child with their favorite stuffed animal or blanket, you’re growing too attached too quickly. It’s going to be your downfall. It’s going to be your goddamn reckoning once these hours have slipped away.

Even more reason to not sleep. Even more reason to cling to your time with him. 

“No rest for the wicked, am I right?” you force a careless grin and hold out a hand. You silently plead for him to take it, to give you this win just once. 

He stares at your hand, then at you, then back to your hand. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that, right?” 

“Yeah,” you sigh out unintentionally when he hesitantly starts to reach out for your hand, grasping his palm to yours. A sudden burst of confidence overrides your system as you say, “But for these final seven hours, I’m your idiot.”

His grip turns steady and firm. A wicked grin crosses his face to match your own. 

“That you are, sweetheart. That you are.”

—

As it turns out, Eddie’s radio is broken. He tries to explain what happened, animatedly waving around his hands as he pulls all of the Deftones albums he owns and tries to give you the backstory to the night he broke the poor thing, but you just grab your phone and wave it in front of him instead. 

“I’m about to change your life and single handedly convince you to get a smartphone, Munson,” you tease as he takes a seat on the couch beside you. 

You’re sat criss-cross, bare knee bumping his thigh as you open your Spotify app. 

“I do know what Spotify is,” he grumbles, “I’m not completely lost on the times.”

“You still use physical copies of porn. Excuse me for assuming you don’t know what Spotify is.”

That shuts him up with ease. 

He’s completely silent, almost unnoticeable if it weren’t for the warmth radiating off of him and the bounce of his knee beside you. His eyes are watchful, though, as you search up this mysterious band and click on their music profile. 

Just as you open your mouth to ask which song you should play, thumb already hovering over their top song of Change (In The House of Flies), he sticks out his open palm. 

“What?” you question, looking up from where you’d been focused on the tiny screen. 

He wiggles his fingers. 

You know that he’s asking for you to hand over the phone, but you still recall the thrill from teasing him earlier. The rush you got from flustering him, from getting under his skin. 

Maybe you don’t have to shower him with abundant flirtatious nicknames to do that. Maybe, you can pull back an inch or so, lay off the compliments, figure out a new way to get under his skin in a way that makes you both smile until your cheeks burn, laugh until your stomachs ache. 

Instead of giving him the phone, you send your hand out to his and smack it. A punitive attempt at a high five with the angle given. 

“Wha-” he starts, staring at his palm you’d just smacked in gentle astonishment, “I wasn’t asking for a high five.” 

“No?” you bite down on your inner cheek, reeling back in your smile as he wiggles his fingers again, inching his hand closer to the phone. 

This time, instead of slapping at his hand, you smack your hand down into his and lace your fingers together. 

A giggle escapes you as he tries to shake your hand from his, and even as he tries to grimace, you catch the smile he’s fighting. 

“Sweetheart,” he chastises, “Give me the phone so I can show you the damn band.” 

“Ask nicely.” 

He gets his hand free from yours and tilts his head in your direction, raising an eyebrow. You only raise your own brow in return.

“Stop being a brat and give me the phone, please,” he repeats himself in a nearly condescending tone. 

You’re managing it. Aching cheeks, soon-to-be aching stomachs, as you crawl beneath his skin. “Make me.” 

Two simple words are all it takes to finally burrow into him. Literally. You nearly drop your phone when he’s quickly shifting positions, hand no longer be held out for the device as he suddenly dives it into your sides. Your body instinctively curls up protectively, and his forearm is caught against your torso as he begins to do exactly what you had enticed from him. He’s making you.

The asshole is tickling you.

“Eddie!” you screech, no care for how thin the walls of his apartment might be, “Ed-Eddie, stop!”

He’s cackling now between your gasping laughs. Your phone does take a tumble, dropping to both your feet as his second hand joins the torture. You can’t follow the path of his fingertips up and down your sides, only continuing to yelp out as your eyes tear up and you try to fight back. He props himself with a knee on the couch, other leg stretched to the floor as he cowers you into the cushion and your sides begin to ache. 

“Stop it! Stop it!” 

If you really wanted him to stop, you probably could manage to kick him off of you. One slip of a knee or thigh with intention towards his groin, and you’re sure it would send him flying. But you don’t. You let his body cover yours as your forehead bumps against his shoulder, you let him curl back into you and entrap you so willingly. You let that overwhelming scent of boy take you over. 

You let his waves drag you under. You don’t even have to take a breath before it happens; his essence is enough to keep your lungs from collapsing. 

“Stop?” he laughs, fingers momentarily slowing but not quite stopping, “Have I made you yet, baby?”

Your laughs die silently. All the air finally leaves your lungs, and you officially can only breathe in him. 

Baby. 

He senses the change in you immediately. The tickling stops, and he’s leaning back, shoulder leaving your forehead feverish. That’s what it was, it couldn’t possibly be the warmth that glows in your chest from that nickname. 

Baby. 

You get it. Oh, God, you get it. His quick escape when you’d called him handsome. You’d forgotten that this game of getting beneath his skin and bantering with light teasing goes both ways. You’d forgotten he has as much power over you now as you did him. 

Wide, brown eyes meet yours. He’s close enough to kiss. One impulsively lurch forward, and your lips would be back on his. His tongue in your mouth, his hands on your hips, his own hips settled between your thighs – all of this is so, so palpable. And all it would take is one movement. 

You hesitate. And he moves, lurching the wrong way. You almost call out, wait. Come back. 

Baby. 

An echo you can’t grasp onto quickly enough, and it leaves right along with the weight of him. 

He leans down and grabs your phone that had fallen, and sits back down beside you as he clears his throat, “Anyways. Um, where were we?” 

You kissing me. Me kissing you. Us, kissing, here on this couch. 

“Deftones?” you manage to whisper out questioningly instead. You swallow down that desire, a fiery weapon you should probably tamper down anyways. 

“Right. Deftones.” 

He opens your phone, putting in the code you quietly hand over to him without any hesitation. It was all wasted on that brief look, that moment where you nearly had him back in your grasps and he only slipped away again. 

You don’t even care as he deliberates which song to show you first. You think there’s a notification from Steve, a text message in the groupchat, but it’s lost on you. 

Baby. 

You like the way it sounds, you like the way it fits. You wonder how steep of a price you’d have to pay to hear him say it again. 

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You had talked to him almost every night, after he gave you his personal home phone number. But even he with his calming voice and sweet words couldn’t mellow your mind

Finally when Saturday night rolled around, you were a mess of butterflies and sweaty palms. Your one saving grace was your best friend Lauren insisting she help you get ready, you hadn’t gone on a date in more than six months, said date being with your boyfriend at the time, so this was a completely new set of feelings. This almost felt like a blind date, which had never been your forte. Your mom tried to set you up on loads of them with the sons of men she worked with, you’d always tell her it felt too impersonal to not know a guy beforehand.

But Eddie was the exception, although in a way you did somewhat know him, the thought still did nothing to ease the fluttering in your abdomen.

“Alright” Lauren says with a clap of her perfectly manicured hands. “You go get in the shower, make sure you shave! And I’ll pick out your outfit.” She commands as she waves you off.

Lauren had been your best friend since grade school, and although she is now in a fully committed relationship, she had her fair share of dates before she met Paul. You could trust that she’d have you looking close to perfection when she was done.

While in the shower you exfoliate, wash and shave. Once your hair and body had been completely rinsed of your strawberries and cream body wash and rose petal shampoo and conditioner, you step out and cloth your body with your pink robe.

You make your way back into your room after wrapping your hair in a towel—

Eyes catching on the very revealing outfit that was layered out across the foot of your full size bed.

You scrunch your face up in distaste for the garments, Lauren notices and rolls her eyes with a sigh—

“you’re going to a bar y/n, not church okay? This is a perfectly acceptable look for the occasion.” You couldn’t disagree with her there.

“I know Laur, I just- I don’t know if I can pull that look off.” You say as you cross your arms over your chest.

“What are you talking about? Those legs and boobs were meant to be shown off.” She says as if it was common knowledge.

“Plus, these are all your clothes, if you didn't think you could pull them off then why do you have them?” She asks with a shrug of her shoulders as she sits down in the green tufted vintage chair opposite your bed.

“I bought them because I was working up the guts to eventually wear them someday.” You say in an almost defensive tone

“And what better time than now? C'mon, you’re meeting some guy you met on a phone sex hotline, if that doesn’t call for the sexy revealing outfit in the back of your closet you’ve been working up the guts to wear, then I don’t know what does.” She huffs out a laugh.

“Ya’ know what, you’re right!” You say with confidence.

“Damn right I am.” Lauren says back, making you both fall into a fit of laughter,

“thanks babe, I can always count on you to make me feel better.” You say with complete admiration for your best friend.

“Yeah, you owe me lunch. Now, try this shit on.” Lauren says with no real malice behind her words.

You left your apartment in the city at about 6:05pm making it into hawkins by 6:30pm.

You decide to roll down your windows as soon as you pass the ‘welcome to Hawkins’ sign, it had been a beautiful spring day and as the sun was setting the sky illuminated a pinky orange hue. The town smelled like hints of cow manure and fresh grass clippings. You could tell this was one of those small towns where everyone knew you and your business, that was something you were grateful you never had to worry about in the city.

You made it to Rips bar on the east side of Hawkins with five minutes to spare before Eddie and his band were to be on stage, the plan was for you to watch him play as he does every Saturday, and after you’d maybe play a couple rounds of pool before getting a bite to eat.

You didn’t mind the idea, and after learning that Eddie was in a band you were pretty excited to see him in his element, it also gave you some time to get a couple drinks into you before the initial meeting.

Before you turn off the ignition, you flip down the visor to inspect your makeup in the mirror, winged eyeliner still intact and red lipstick not yet smudged. You play with your voluminous curls, as you try to perfect the hair framing your face.

Stepping out of your red Acura legend, your platform Mary janes crunch on the rocky gravel of the parking lot while making your way into the bar.

You run your fingers down your black pleated skirt to smooth out any wrinkles that may have formed during your drive, adjust your white strapless corset top, almost making a split decision to grab the knitted cardigan in your back seat to hide the amount of cleavage you were presenting, but Lauren’s voice rings out in your head, the way she screeched “you’re a hot ass bitch!” At you, as you admired yourself in the mirror before leaving.

The recent memory making you chuckle as you grab the big golden handle attached to an even bigger red door. Swinging it open you’re hit with the different scents of cigarettes and leather.

you pull the white thigh high socks you almost protested against wearing, higher up your plush thighs before making your way inside.

The bar sits at the back, pool tables to the left surrounded by booths. The jukebox on the far left wall catches your eye, before you see a figure walk out onto the stage that sits front and center.

His long wavy brown hair flows beautifully past his shoulders, his guitar hangs off the side of his body, black ripped jeans, bullet belt, and a sepultura band tee that you only notice because your older brother is also a fan. His leather jacket hugs his biceps perfectly and his feet are adorned with high top Adidas.

You make your way over to the bar and take a seat on the round black leather chair, spinning around to continue ogling the man you hope is your date.

His whole being made the room feel almost unbearably hot, your mouth began to water as you fought against the need to clench your thighs.

The rest of the band struts on stage, settling in front of their respective instruments.

Eddie had told you all the members names and what they played:

Jeff on rhythm guitar

Grant on bass

And Gareth on drums

So that only leaves the man standing in front of the mic with his guitar now pulled closer to his chest to be Eddie.

He was fucking hot.

As you came to this revelation you had noticed a group of girls gather at the front of the stage, all of them eye fucking each member of the band.

It makes your stomach feel queasy, so you turn in your seat and order a Jack and coke from the very nice bartender, as an aide to calm your nerves and as a distraction, for now.

As the band starts playing, you recognize the song almost immediately—

Megalomania by Black Sabbath.

Eddie begins to sing into his microphone while simultaneously strumming his guitar.

I hide myself inside the shadows of shame

The silent symphonies were playing their game

My body echoed to the dreams of my soul

It started something that I could not control

Where can I run to now, the joke is on me

No sympathizing God, it’s insanity, yeah..

You sway in your seat to the music, singing along as you sip from your drink. Your eyes catch on the silver that decorate his fingers, your thoughts going to some really filthy places.

Eddie keeps his eyes closed for majority of the song, his playing must be full on muscle memory by now. Once he finally opens them, they scan the whole bar, finally falling on you.

They don’t leave yours, as the song crescendos to an end. You swallow harshly as all of his attention now seems to be on you, he looks over your frame with a shy smile before he sends you a wink.

The whole display makes your heart swoon. You could be any woman in this bar but his eyes chose yours.

That has to count for something.

Eddie’s eyes catch yours a few more times, and as you’re on your second drink you’ve gained a newfound confidence.

You wave to him with a wiggle of your fingers as you take the straw between your plump red lips, seductively taking a sip while never breaking eye contact.

Once the band's set is finished a younger man walks over to the jukebox and before you know it, shot in the dark by Ozzy is being played loudly throughout the bar.

Eddie and his band mates begin packing their equipment up, but as Eddie is putting his guitar away in its case, one of the girls from the front row walks up to him, she’s all big smiles and flirty touches.

He begins talking with her, you can hear her loud laughs even over the music. It makes your eyes roll and leaves a permanent scowl on your face.

The display makes your stomach turn. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe, Eddie didn’t really feel the way he said he did. Maybe, you should just get up and go home.

But before you know it the girl is headed to a booth that is now occupied by her friends.

Eddie’s eyes are back on yours, he's noticed you watching him out of his periphery, since the girl walked up to him.

He shoots you a knowing smirk, as he heads towards the exit with the rest of his band, you assume they’re going to put the instruments away, so you turn in your seat and begin to down the second jack and coke you’d been babysitting.

About 8 minutes pass and you’re convinced he took one look at you and left, your eyes begin to burn at the thought.

That is until you hear the deep rasp of your name being called behind you as he taps you on the shoulder, you swivel around in your seat to find the colporate.

Your eyes meet a set of beautiful brown doe ones, you stare into them for a second before he’s calling your name again.

“You’re y/n, right?” He asks, now not so sure he has the right person.

“Y-yeah, im y/n.” Your confidence wavers as Eddie stands before you.

Wow, he’s even more beautiful up close.

You both continue to keep eye contact as if breaking it would end your air supply.

But before you can continue to make a bigger fool out of yourself, you are hopping off the bar stool.

Eddie doesn’t miss the way your tits bounce as you do.

Now he was able to take you all in, and boy did he do just that. His eyes roamed your body from head to toe.

You hold out a hand for him to shake, accompanied by the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

He slid his calloused, ringed hand into yours and lightly shook it, never once breaking eye contact while shooting you a toothy smile, showcasing his pearly whites.

“Let’s sit.” He suggests, as he gestures to the bar stools.

Now seated, Eddie waves a hand to get the bartender's attention.

“How many of those have you had?” Eddie asks, closer to your ear in an almost whisper.

“Oh, um this is my second one.” You timidly respond.

“Okay, I think that’s enough for tonight, I want you to be coherent during our date, alright?” Eddie says in an almost commanding tone that makes your face heat up and an ache form in your belly.

“Two waters.” He says to the bartender as he holds up two of his ringed fingers.

Fuck, those rings were really doing it for you.

The bartender puts the waters Eddie ordered on little napkins and scoots them in front of you both, the condensation already leaving the napkin wet, you continue studying it before Eddie breaks the silence.

“So, how’d you like the show?” He asks sheepishly, as his right thumb circles the rim of his glass, you could only assume it was out of nervousness, or at least you hoped.

“I loved it, you guys are really good!” You beam, “got quite the fan base too.” You chuckle, Eddie can read the jealousy in your eyes, from a mile away.

“You jealous, baby?” He teases, making you roll your eyes at his cocky words.

“Yeah right.” Is all you say back before you take a sip of your water.

He chuckles before he speaks again.

“Can I be honest with you?” He says while trying to catch your eye, as you continue to observe the drink in front of you.

“Sure.” You say as your heart begins to race, your eyes finally meet his as you slightly turn to him in your chair.

“You’re not what I expected.” He says with a side smile

Ouch

“I’m sorry I didn’t live up to your expectations.” You snap with a slump of your shoulders.

“Whoa whoa, princess” he put his hands up in defense, “you exceeded my expectations.” He says with a wide smile, moving in closer to your exposed ear “you’re fucking gorgeous.” He whispers

“And this little outfit,” he tsks “is this for me?”

“Maybe.” You reply shyly, as you bite your lip.

You and Eddie sit at the bar a little longer; chatting, flirting and getting to know each other.

You find out he’s been at his hotline job for almost a year, he enjoys playing dnd in his spare time and he was raised by his uncle who he still has a great relationship with.

You also learn all the basics: his favorite color is red, his favorite food is Chinese and pizza, he’s a cat person and he collects vinyl records and comic books. You’re pleased to find out he’s essentially a nerd, like you.

You were even able ask him the ever daunting question of ‘what made you pick up a phone sex gig?’, which to that Eddie answered ‘eh, I knew it’d be easy money and I’d get to do what I do best, which is talk.’ That got him a very pleasing chortle out of you.

You both continue talking about your common interests of comics, horror movies and music for a bit longer, until he orders you both a beer and suggests moving to the pool tables, as they’re now empty along with the majority of the bar.

You step off the stool, platform Mary Janes sticking to the bar floor as you make your way to the tables, Eddie’s eyes are glued to the backs of your thighs and your ass in that little skirt.

You were absolutely hypnotizing and he knew keeping his hands off of you was going to be a challenge, all he wanted to do was run his fingers through your hair and pull your lips to his, rub his hands up your thighs and play with the waistband of your panties. He bet you wore some cute little lacey ones, maybe you didn’t wear any at all? That prospect made Eddie swell in his jeans, instantly.

You grab two cue sticks off the wall and hand one to Eddie, you rub the blue chalk on the tip before you pass that to him, too

Eddie removes the triangle from around the pool balls before he’s gesturing with his hand “ladies first.” He asserts, making you giggle before bending over directly in front of him, you hit the white ball with the tip of your stick making two solid balls into one of the pockets, before throwing a cocky smirk—

“guess I’m solids.” You proclaim while moving around the table to where the white ball is now sitting. You take the shot and the ball you had your sights on ricochets off the side missing the pocket by a hair.

Eddie smiles at you before taking his turn. You admire him as he bends over the table, his butt looks way too good in those black levi’s and the way his leather jacket hugs his body makes you bite your lip. You’re deep in thought before Eddie is calling your name.

“Y/n?” you respond with a huh as your cheeks heat up, “I said, let’s make this interesting?” He turns towards you, both hands placed over the top of his pool cue, he has an insatiable grin on his face that you just want to kiss right off.

“Okay, what do you have in mind?” You warely ask

“Everytime one of us makes a ball into the pocket, the other has to tell a secret.” He proposes with a sly grin.

You think about his words for a second, you didn’t have very many secrets, you were for the most part a good girl. You didn’t have any raunchy sex stories or a rebellious phase, so there wasn’t much to be revealed, but you figured Eddie had a ton so of course the smart thing to do was to agree, you would be an idiot not to.

“Okay, let’s do it!” You decide as you beam up at him, he nods his head in satisfaction before he’s moving out of your way for you to take your turn.

You make one ball into the pocket before you’re turning to him with a raise of your eyebrows, “spill, pretty boy.” You say before you could really think about your words, but before you can shy away and apologize, Eddie’s moving closer towards you with a smile on his face and a look in his eye you couldn’t quite read.

“Pretty boy, huh? That’s a new one… I like it.” He says in amusement, before he’s moving closer to you.

“My secret is, I’ve never had a real girlfriend.” He whispers closer to your ear.

“Ha-ha, yeah right! You have to tell an honest secret Eddie.” You roll your eyes as you move to grab your beer to take a sip.

“No, I’m being honest.” He says as his face slightly falls, you could tell from the look in his eyes that he was being genuine, but the confession took you completely off guard, there’s no way this sexy man never had a girlfriend. Also why was that the first secret he confessed? The whole thing made you beyond curious.

“It’s still your turn.” He says, making you file those questions away for later.

You walk back up to the table stone faced and in deep thought, you take your shot and miss before moving back to where your beer was, picking it up and taking another sip.

Eddie bends over the table, one arm stretched out at the front of the pool cue while the other grips the back, tongue out and in complete concentration.

Your eyes catch on a little silver ball-

Your breath hitches when the realization hits you.

His tongue is pierced

How have you missed that? The new information made your mind run rampant, what it would feel like to have it brush up against your tongue, your clit-

Stop

Before the thoughts could completely take over, Eddie walks around the table towards you with bouncing eyebrows.

“Tell me something good, sweetheart.” Your body almost goes slack at the nickname, god anything he calls you makes your head spin, or maybe it was these drinks? You think to yourself.

“Well, ummm, I’ve never gotten high before.” You confess, as your face grows hot.

“Is that a secret?” He asks with a squint of his eyes.

“I guess, my friends all think I got high with them once but I didn’t actually smoke it right, so I told them I was high cause I didn’t want to have to try again.” God, that’s such an embarrassing confession and you can’t believe you just said it out loud, you really are a complete loser.

“Wow princess, that’s some top secret stuff.” He howls, as you tense up at his teasing.

Eddie notices the look on your face, making his smile falter.

“Hey baby, I’m kidding!” He says moving in closer until the tips of his sneakers are touching your mary janes.

He grabs your chin, tilting your head up to look him in the eyes, they roam yours for a few seconds before he continues—

“I’m sorry, that’s a totally valid secret, okay? I didn’t mean to make fun or anything.” He says with sincerity.

“You're just a good girl, huh?” He says with a little smirk, “my good girl.” He whispers

You think for a second that he might make a move and kiss you, but instead he pulls away.

“Ya know what? Let’s get out of here, go grab some food and I don’t know, see where the night takes us.” He prescribes as he takes the pool cue out of your hands and hangs both back up on the wall.

He walks towards you and downs his beer, “you want this one too?” You ask as you motion towards the less than half full beer bottle in your hand.

He takes it from you and downs it too, before grabbing your hand and guiding you out of the establishment and into the crisp night air.

Eddie was definitely someone who was used to taking charge and that subtle dominance was making the blaze in your belly spread like wildfire.

You decide to leave your car in the parking lot of the bar, Eddie suggesting he drive you back to it when you’re ready to head home.

You agree, as he opens up the passenger door for you. Eddie takes your hand and helps you up before he places a sweet and tender kiss to the top of it, before letting it go to fall in your lap.

The van smells like cigarettes and woodsy cologne. You take a peek in the back seat before Eddie’s swinging the driver door open and hopping in.

The band's equipment takes up the majority of it, but you could see a little mattress pushed up beside one of the side windows, you wonder how many girls he’s hooked up with in the back of his van after one of his shows. You turn to look at him as he puts the key in the ignition and turns it, the engine roars to life and before you could get another thought in, the tape Eddie is playing booms through the speakers, making you jump up a foot in your seat.

Eddie quickly turns the knob down before shooting you an apologetic smile.

“So what do you feel like eating, angel?” He inquires sweetly

Angel

Well, you definitely felt like you were in heaven, being with Eddie, so it was fitting.

You and Eddie had decided on burgers, fries and milkshakes— he drove through the drive thru of his favorite burger joint, handing you the food to secure on your lap.

You weren’t sure what plans Eddie had in mind, but you were all for following his lead.

You and Eddie both sang along to rock hard ride free by Judas Priest, as he drove around Hawkins.

He’d occasionally look over at you with a sweet smile, as you mouthed the words.

Finally, after the third or fourth time and out of pure curiosity you turn to meet his eyes, he’s looking at you with a glint in those big pools of brown.

He sends you a wink before his head turns back to the road in front of him.

God, he was gonna be the death of you.

Eddie parks in front of an unfamiliar lake, the glow of the moon illuminates off the water, making what would be a pitch black area in the woods, gleam.

You begin opening the bag and taking the food out, ready to hand him his burger and fries before he turns down the music and clears his throat.

“Do you wanna sit on the hood?” He suggests, before opening his door and leaping out.

“Yeah, sure.” You nod as you grab the food and make your way out of the door that was just opened for you.

Eddie helps you up first, platforms stomping all over his front bumper as you try to catch balance on the big hunk of metal below you.

“You got it?” Eddie asks as your knee hits the hood, you pull yourself into a seating position, you now worry if Eddie caught a glimpse of anything under your skirt as you struggled. He hands you the food, before he’s easily pulling himself up onto his hood, he scoots closer to you, arms and legs touching as he leans back against the front window.

You begin to eat your fries while you stare off, eyes darting from the lake to the bright stars hovering above.

You pass Eddie his greasy food “So, you come out here a lot?” Your voice felt so soft coming out of your mouth, almost like you didn’t wanna break his daze.

“To lovers lake?” He says in surprise “yeah, I actually do.” He smiles while taking the food out of your hands.

He unwraps his burger and takes a bite as you begin to repeat, ‘lovers lake’ to yourself in your head.

“Why do they call it lovers lake?” You ask without much thought.

Eddie swallows his bite a bit abruptly before he begins to speak, “honestly, it got its name because it’s a pretty big hook up spot.” He nonchalantly says.

“Mmm” is all you give him with a tight press of your lips, you can’t help but to wonder how many of his hookups he brought to this exact spot, to fuck on that exact mattress pushed against the window and bad equipment.

You knew this was part of it, you didn’t meet him in any conventional way. You both had phone sex already for Christ sake.

But you still couldn’t help the ache in your chest and the way your belly burned ablaze at the thought of him bringing you somewhere he brought someone else.

I’ve never had a girlfriend before.

But surely he’s had hookups? You assume lots of hookups, Eddie exudes sex appeal. He’s like a sex god while up on that stage, so there is no doubt in your mind he has hooked up with a number of women after his shows.

It shouldn’t matter, that was his past and it doesn't concern you. But the knowledge that he’s as experienced as he is and you haven’t even been eaten out yet makes you nervous and insecure.

“You must really like that milkshake.” Eddie laughs at the way you’re lost in thought why simultaneously downing the strawberry flavored malt.

You nod in agreement but Eddie notices the way you’re slouched with a seemingly sad look in your eyes as you continue to stare out at the lake in front of you.

“Hey, is everything okay?” He asks while moving in even closer to you and putting his hand he first wiped off onto his jeans, on your knee.

He begins to play with the fabric of your thigh high, while he awaits your answer.

“I’m fine, I’m just too in my head.” You say as Eddie takes the almost empty shake out of your hand and places the cup on the top of the van, behind you.

“Talk to me, baby.” Eddie continues rubbing at your knee, slightly working his way up to your unclothed thigh. Before snapping the fabric of your socks into your skin, making you slightly shriek with laughter.

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just nervous.” You say without looking at him.

“Nervous? Why would you be nervous?” He says it as if you shouldn’t have a care in the world, as if you were someone who should exude nothing but confidence.

If only that were true.

“Well, there’s a lot of things I haven’t done before.” You say as your eyes finally find his. “I’m not as experienced as you are, and I mean you taking me to a lake you’ve hooked up at probably multiple times, isn’t really helping.” You practically word vomit.

“Hey whoa, relax sweet girl.” He whispers while grabbing the meat of your inner thigh gently, his metal rings contrast the temperature of your skin perfectly.

His touch towards your more sensitive skin, draws goosebumps along your legs and arms. His affect on you is clear as day, even in the low light of the moon.

“I’ve never brought anyone out here. To be completely honest with you, I come out here alone to think and smoke. I’ve never hooked up with anyone here, baby. I can promise you that.” He continues—

“Now I would be lying if I said I didn’t have random hook ups in the back of the van, or in the parking lots or bathrooms of the bars I perform in.” You drop your head from his heated gaze to look down at his hand that is continuing to paw at the squishy skin of your thigh.

“Shit- look baby, just because I have some extra experience doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. I mean how else am I gonna treat you nice and make you feel good? I couldn’t do that if I didn’t have some experience, right?” He says so close to your ear you can feel his breath.

“Yeah I guess you’re right.” You nod, “I just don’t wanna be like the worst person you’ve ever been with.” You say with a somber laugh.

“Hey, you know this isn’t just about sex for me right? I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m very much looking forward to it.” he says before licking his red plump lips. “But this means so much more to me than that. I really like you sweetheart and I promise you, I will show you all the things you’ve been missing out on, okay?” He says with a deep set tone to his voice, one that could make you just fall to your knees for him.

He was oh so tempting.

“So, you’ve had plenty of hook ups but why is it you’ve never had a girlfriend?” You ask out of nothing but pure curiosity.

Eddie takes a deep breath before answering your loaded question.

“Believe it or not, I’m not too popular among the residents in this shit hole town.” His voice comes out equal parts dejected and vexed.

“What do you mean by that?” You ask as you put your hand on top of his, the one that still lays on your thigh, you lightly squeeze as an encouragement that you’re here, no matter what.

“Well, because of the way I dress and the music I listen to, oh and the fact that I play dnd.” He rolls his eyes before continuing “those are the reasons this town has labeled me a freak.” His jaw clenches slightly before he brings his chocolatey pools of brown to meet yours, the look he’s giving is so vulnerable, almost as if he’s giving you an out, a chance to run away from all the baggage his life brings.

“A freak?” You hiss as you scrunch your nose up in distaste, “and what’s so bad about that?” You ask innocently, too innocent.

“As far as I’m concerned, being different or a ‘freak’ isn't a bad thing, I mean to close minded people, maybe. But there’s a whole world out there of like minded people who like the same shit you do, just because this small town can’t value your differences doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.” You say honestly, the words pour out of you like a waterfall and just as peaceful to Eddie’s ears.

He rubs the light stubble on his chin, as if in deep thought but really he was just letting your words sink in. Nobody has ever said something like that to him; he wanted to savor them, write them down to read over later when he was alone, something to come back to when the adults of Hawkins stick their noses up at him, a reminder.

“You’re really something, you know that?” He settles for those words instead of what he really wants to say and do in this moment.

He might be in love with you, he might be in so much deeper than he thought.

“Me? No” you say with a nonchalant shake of your head, cheeks heating up under the glow of the night sky. “I’m just being honest.” You remove your hand from his, to push some of your hair behind your ear in a shy manner.

Eddie scoots even closer, his hand that was gently rubbing at your thigh, now around the small of your back, his fingers settling into the exposed flesh of your side.

He moves in closer to the ear you had just exposed to him, “don’t get shy on me now, baby.” He whispers, his voice so easily makes your thighs clench and your body stiffen all in a matter of seconds.

Eddie’s cocky, knowing laugh rings out but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. You feel embarrassed at how easily your body gives up control to him. As if you’re a puppet on a string, and him the perfect puppet master. He could make you do just about anything in this moment, more so with his husky voice pressed up against your ear. You want him to whisper the dirtiest things to you, call you his little slut. All things your ex wanted to do that you never wanted to entertain.

Eddie brings out a side of you, you never even knew existed. A side you are more than ready and willing to explore. If only with him.

“You’re so fuckin’ cute and sexy.” Eddie says while pulling out a half smoked joint he had tucked behind his other ear, he puts it between his lips before digging in his pocket for his lighter, a silver zippo with a skull in the middle.

“Mm, I don’t know about that.” You say with a laugh that shakes your shoulders.

“You need to stop selling yourself short, angel.” He says while lighting the spliff, smoke immediately bellows from his nose and mouth. God how could someone be so effortlessly sexy?

“You’re so much more than you give yourself credit for, you’re so much more y/n.” The way he says your name makes your insides twist in the best way. You’d never heard your ex talk about you like this, it was always what you could be better at, never that you were just good enough. Eddie made you feel good enough.

And in that moment you made it your goal to make him feel good enough, too.

After plenty of banter and deep conversation, Eddie hops off the hood, making his way to his side of the van. He flips down the visor retrieving something before making his way back towards you.

“So, I know you said you never smoked, but would you do me the honors of being the first person to get you high?” His eyes were hopeful but his voice was calm, as if to say no pressure without needing the words.

“I said I smoked, I just didn’t do it right.” You chuckle as you playfully roll your eyes “what the hell, why not?” You say after a quick deliberation.

“That’s the spirit, baby.” He says with a loud clap of his hands before climbing back onto his spot on the hood.

He does the same routine of pulling out his zippo and lightening and puffing with ease.

He blows the smoke up and into the crisp night sky, his neck on full display as he tilts his head back, the purplish blue veins making their appearance as they bulge ever so slightly out of alabaster skin.

You reach out and tuck his curly strand of hair behind his ear, a gentle gesture that pulls a smile from Eddie’s lips, his glossy red eyes meet yours for a second before he holds out the joint for you to take.

“You ready, beautiful?” His smile grows even wider as he notices the nervous look in your eyes.

God, you were the sweetest fucking thing.

“I guess as ready as I’ll ever be.” You retort with slight sarcasm.

“You know you can say no, right? I would never pressure you into doing something you don’t want to, okay?” His tone was so gentle and understanding, it made the nervousness that had plagued your body a second ago vanish in an instant.

“I know, but I want to, with you.” You whisper the last part, so low it would be a miracle if he heard you over the sounds of the crickets chirping off in the distance, but he did and those two words made his heart soar more than anything he’s ever experienced.

After a couple attempts of hitting the joint, you finally inhale correctly, the quick burn of the grass instantly making you cough manically. Your face grew hot at the thought of Eddie hearing you almost hock up a lung.

But there was no judgment behind his eyes, just a look that could ease even the most anxious of souls. His hand rubbed in between your shoulder blades, gently back and forth.

“You okay, baby?” You gave him a nod before bursting out into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

“What’s so funny? Huh?” Eddie inquires as he bumps his shoulder lightly into yours, he’s now laughing at your cute hyena cackle.

He thought you looked the most beautiful like this, head thrown back, laugh echoing off of the lake probably scaring off any wildlife in a 20 mile radius, eyes glossed over and watery as you wiped them away. He wanted to make you laugh like that all the time. Keep you happy and laughing, forever.

“I think I’m high!” You squeak out between laughs, Eddie can’t help but to let out a hyena cackle of his own at your revelation.

“Yeah, sweetheart I gathered that.” He says, while not breaking his gaze from you; eyes filled with complete adoration.

“Hey Eddie, can I ask you something?” Your high has brought on a whole other side to you, a bold side.

“You said people here consider you a freak, right?” You say while trying to keep your train of thought with this new feeling of brain fog settling in.

“Why don’t you move somewhere else? You’d love Indy, there’s a ton of metalheads and punks and nobody gives them shit, it’s different in the city, people are much more open minded.” It comes out much more rambley than you meant for it to.

“I guess.. I’m just too chickenshit to move somewhere where I don’t know anyone, I’m not really sure, I mean I’ve thought about leaving, it just never seemed possible.” He huffs out, slightly dejected.

“Well now you know someone.” You say before grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers together, his palms were sweaty and his rings were warm despite the light spring breeze that had you holding the hand that wasn’t in Eddie’s grasp between your thighs for warmth.

Eddie brings your interlocked hand up to his face and lightly kisses the skin on the back of yours, before he’s letting go and hopping off the hood, once again.

“So what do you want to do? The night’s still young.” He says while fixing the crotch of his jeans, like they were too tight.

“Let’s go swimming in the lake?” You suggest with way too much enthusiasm, it makes Eddie chuckle with amusement.

“That lake has to be fucking freezing, it was iced over all winter and it barely melted last month, so no thank you.” He says with a definitive wave of his hand.

He looks over to find you looking down at your feet in disappointment. You were such a brat, Eddie thought to himself, he knew exactly what you were doing with that shy little pout of your lips, he could just bite into the plump skin.

“But I do know of a heated pool we can sneak into.” He says, making your pout turn right side up into the most perfect smile.

“Yes, a heated pool sounds amazing!” You squeal

You and Eddie pull up to a big gray two story house with a bright red door, the maroon BMW in the driveway catches your eye and you wonder how Eddie knew whoever it was that lives here.

In your eagerness you didn’t wait for Eddie to open your door, instead you quickly jump out, closing it as lightly as possible behind you.

“Cmon.” Eddie whispers as he comes around the van, grabbing you by your hand and practically dragging you to the side of the house.

Eddie makes a big show of jumping up onto the gate, he turns back to grab your hand to hoist you up but instead you flip the latch up and the side gate swings open. The look on Eddie’s face is priceless as he jumps down from his awkward position.

“Are you training to be a gargoyle?” You huff out a laugh trying not to be loud enough for the occupants of the big house to hear.

“Ha-ha” he mocks, but you could tell he wanted to laugh along. A smile broke out across his reddened cheeks. You wanted to pinch them and give them all the kisses but the sight in front of you broke you from that trance. Eddie was removing his leather jacket and pulling his band tee over his head, the tattoos that graced his torso up to his chest, neck and arms now on full display now.

They were beautiful, he was beautiful. There wasn’t an inch of skin left visible and fuck did that make you throb.

He begins toeing off his shoes and removing his jeans before he’s left standing in a pair of red plaid boxer shorts.

You swallow hard when you notice the tattoo above his lower stomach, the words “choking hazard” written in what looks to be the same font as those warning labels.

“You gonna go swimming in your outfit, baby?” Eddie taunts.

You shake your head before you start removing your platforms and thigh highs. The buzz must still be present in your body because the insecurities you would normally feel in this moment are null and void.

You remove your skirt, leaving you in a pair of white lace panties that match the corset top too perfectly. You had no choice but to go swimming in the top since you weren’t wearing a bra underneath, but at this moment you didn't care.

Either this weed made you far less uptight or Eddie brought out your adventurous side, either way you were gonna enjoy it and live in this moment with him.

You stalk up to where Eddie is sitting, his feet already dipped into the pool as he swings them back and forth. He wanted to give you privacy, didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable with him watching you as you undress, which you thought was sweet.

You put your foot onto the first step to get a feel for the temperature and once you realize it’s perfect and warm, you bring your other foot in to join.

You continue on to the second, gaining Eddie’s attention now. He looks over and his eyes fall to your ass and the practically nonexistent panties you’re wearing, you turn around to face him and he can see the outline of your pussy making him swallow harshly. You look like an angel, he wanted nothing more than to corrupt. He stands up onto the step, he’s facing you while letting his eyes shamelessly roam your body.

A devious smile twists upon his lips, but before you can take a step back, Eddie is grabbing you by the waist and pushing you both into the deep water of the pool. You gasp as you come back up for air still in shock from the look in his eyes and his sudden actions. The smell of chlorine, now heavily stuck in your nose from the intake of chemical water.

Eddie swims up to you laughing, the devious smile now replaced with a smug one. You splash him while paddling away with hysterical laughter, you totally forgot that you were in someone else’s pool therefore not holding back the laughs and screams of Eddie's name as he swam towards you like the shark from jaws.

“Eddie please stop!” You cry out as you grab the side of the pool, your laughter making you too weak to keep yourself afloat.

Eddie finally grabs you, maneuvering your legs around his hips while he holds you by the backs of your thighs. He’s able to stand in the almost 6 foot deep end of the pool, water still hitting underneath his chin while you now willingly wrap your arms around his neck, palms placed flat onto the exposed skin of his back.

“Shhh, you gotta be quiet, baby.” He whispers seductively into your ear, it makes a shiver run down your spine. You can feel his hardness as it lines up perfectly with your core. Eddie’s hands move higher up, now grabbing two handfuls of your ass, making you buck your hips into his.

You moan into his neck as his hard cock catches against your barely covered clit. “Fuck.” Eddie growls into your ear while you continue to buck your hips.

Eddie begins to push your ass forcefully against him. He picks his head up from where it’s placed on your shoulder, to look at your face.

Your brows are furrow as an “o” shape settles on your beautiful lips. Eddie moves in closer but as you notice and before you could even begin moving in to meet him, a light from the back porch is turned on, making you and Eddie freeze in place.

A head pops out of the sliding door, a guy who looks to be around you and Eddie’s age, begins to shout—

“What the fuck?! What are you doing in my pool?” The guy with what you had to admit was a beautiful head of hair, shouts. Eddie hops up onto the ledge and pulls you out before rushing over to grab all of the clothes that sit scattered around the concrete.

“Run!” Eddie hisses at you, while picking up the last garment.

The guy's voice gets louder as you and Eddie begin to run; he shoves open the gate as you both make your way into the dimly lit street. You hear some shuffling behind you and can only assume the owner has begun chasing after you both, only making you run faster and your adrenaline skyrocket.

You both jump into the van with preparations to take off, but when you look out the window and observe your surroundings you notice you weren’t being followed, there was no one out on the street, but you and Eddie.

Once you both caught your breath and let your rapid pulses mellow out, you couldn’t hold it in; your hyena cackles were back and in full force as you began laughing so hard you had to hold your stomach from the dull pain.

Eddie couldn’t hold it in either, he throws his head back as he hysterically laughs at the events of the night. The fact that you both had to run in the street in your underwear was what had you wiping the tears from your eyes. It was one of those laughs that was good for the soul.

Once the laughing died down, your eyes were full of tears and your cheeks sore, an almost tense silence fell upon Eddie’s van. To someone else it would look as if you and Eddie were playing a round of who could stare the longest without blinking, but in reality the come down from the adrenaline and the tension from the pool had caught up and you and Eddie weren’t going to let another opportunity slip through your fingers.

Eddie’s eyes caught your lips first before doing a couple more glancing shifts from eyes to lips; you matched him by gawking at his full plump set, his tongue swiping over his bottom one, the tongue ring you forgot about now at the forefront of your mind, again.

You would do anything to feel it up against yours; up against any part of you to be perfectly honest.

You make the first move, throwing your patience out the barely cracked window; you move in closer, to Eddie’s surprise.

He slowly moves in to meet you, his patience must’ve left with yours because he grabs the back of your head, ringed fingers taking agency in the nape of hair on your neck. He pulls you in; lips clashing and tongues dancing together in a harmonized manner.

The silver ball against his tongue continues to roll against yours. Although he’s rough with his lips his tongue is gentle and precise, you’ve never kissed anyone and it feel this sensual and downright erotic.

Before you can overthink your next move, you climb into his lap, straddling his hips; your knees resting on each side of his tan leather bucket seats. The kiss grows more heated, his strong hands move across your body. One hand holds tightly onto your hip while the other explores your skin, once he gets to the fabric of your white panties, Eddie pulls the tiny elastic fabric, letting it pop back into your flesh making you groan out in pleasure.

“Mmm, did you like that sweet girl?” Eddie purrs into your ear, making you swiftly nod your head to confirm his suspicions.

“Fuck, you like a little bit of pain, baby?” He asks as if he’s ready to haul you over his middle console and spank your ass black and blue.

Is that what he’s into?

The thought made your body heat up like a furnace fire, you’ve never done anything like that before all of your sexual experiences had been vanilla at best, so the idea of Eddie inflicting pain on you for his own sexual gratification lit a match under your ass, you wanted to experience it all with Eddie. You wanted to use him as your own personal guinea pig, find out exactly what it is that was missing in your last relationship, what made you tick, what made you cum.

Eddie breaks the kiss leaving you to whimper at the loss “do you wanna head back to my place?” He inquires while reading your face for any signs of uneasiness at his admission.

“Yes, please.” You whisper into his lips, voice dripping with desperation. Eddie couldn’t help but twitch in his pants because of it.

The drive to Eddie’s apartment was unnerving, not only because of the very unpredictable sex you were about to have, but because Eddie was swerving in and out of lanes like a madman. His one hand effortlessly held the wheel while the other possessively grabbed at your thigh, your skirt right back in its rightful place.

Although Eddie’s grip on you could’ve made you melt into your seat, you couldn’t help but wish he would keep both hands on the wheel if he was going to drive like hell-for-leather.

Finally he pulls into a sparse car park, bringing the van to a full stop. You could’ve swung the door open and fell to your knees kissing the floor, beyond grateful to get to your destination in one piece. Your tight grip on the door handle falters and you move to make a bee line out of the death trap.

“Oh c'mon, I don’t drive that bad.” Eddie chuckles at your less than thrilled face. He puts his arm around your shoulders, leading you up some stairs and to a dingy white door.

Once you step through the threshold and into the very decently sized apartment, the smell of pumpkin hits your nose. You look around at all of the metal memorabilia displayed around his home; from the band posters to the vinyls and tapes, to the array of band tees laying around. You slip off your shoes before you make your way deeper into the living room, and just as you suspected a half burned through pumpkin candle sits on a large speaker/stereo combo that holds a large stack of tapes—

A vast collection of metal: exodus, metal church, massacre, sodom, venom and overkill just to name a few.

Eddie haphazardly throws his keys into a rusty dish near his entryway and stalks up behind you as you continue to take in the decor. His hands fall on your hips, as he rubs over the fabric of your skirt, inching down closer and closer to your exposed thighs.

Resting his chin on your bare shoulder, Eddie whispers tauntingly, “something catch your eye, angel?”

You take in a shaky breath before you’re able to answer, “just looking at your tapes, you’ve got quite the collection.” You smile as you turn around, now facing the object of your desire.

“Mm, see anything you like? I can put one in, just for you.” He whispers suggestively.

His hands make way under your skirt, slowly sliding up until their back on your ass, almost mirroring the same position you were in when you got caught in that guy with the nice hairs, pool.

“I see a lot of things I like.” You whisper back as you bat your lashes up at Eddie, “oh you meant put a tape in, I thought we were talking about something else.” You giggle at the way Eddie’s eyes widen a bit and snorts out a loud howl of laughter, his head tipping back at the suggestive joke.

“Oh, so little miss good girl can crack some naughty jokes? I didn’t think you’d catch that.” He presumes while rubbing at his hairless chin, as if stroking an imaginary beard.

“I said I wasn’t as experienced, I never said I was a virgin.” You challenge with a raise of your eyebrows, this was a side of you that you felt comfortable with around Eddie, the playful flirting. Although Eddie was much better at it, it was still fun to play along.

“Mm, I distinctly remember you telling me you’re a virgin at having your pussy eaten though, am I right?” Eddie practically growls into your ear, his warm breath tickling your neck and causing a herd of goosebumps to raise on your skin.

His crude words nearly make a whimper slip out of your mouth, you gracefully swallow it back down not wanting Eddie in on the effect he was having over your body, but judging by the changes on your skin and the slight chill you weren’t able to compose, Eddie was very much aware of said effect. His sly grin were the unspoken words you needed to egg on all those pretty noises he’d heard for the first time on the hotline, the ones Eddie couldn’t go to sleep without dreaming of, the ones he couldn’t even jerk off without thinking about.

“Isn’t that what you told me? No one’s ever showed your little pussy what it’s been missing.” He tsks before continuing “that’s a real shame baby, but I’d be damn happy to show your sweet peach how it’s supposed to be eaten, cause I do it really well.” His cocky boyish grin is making you flood your panties and the dirty words aren’t doing anything to help.

You’re stunned into silence, you had given Eddie all of your sexy flirty material. You were at your proverbial limit. You had run out of characters.

He was a phone sex operator, of course you couldn’t keep up with his dirty talk, this was just like another normal working night for him.

Eddie grabbed at your chin, gently tilting your head up towards his, he could tell you had checked out and were now in your head, something Eddie noticed that you do a lot.

“Hey, baby. You okay?” The concern in his voice made you snap out of whatever foggy daze you were in.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine, just you’re really good at that, too good, if I’m being honest.” You light heartedly confess with a titter.

“Do you not like it? Should I tone it down?” You could tell by the rasp in his voice that he was nervous, the last thing he’d want is to overstep or make you feel uncomfortable.

You realized in that moment that reassurance was key with Eddie, he needed you to be more vocal, let him know what you like and dislike, and he’d do the rest.

That sentiment finally made your shoulders drop, the tension and nervousness dissipating from your body in an instant, you could trust him, give yourself to him in a way you never felt comfortable doing with anyone else.

“No, I meant it in a good way. I really like it, Eddie.” You purred up at him with a shy smile.

He beamed down at you with a look you could only describe as complete adoration.

His hands continued roaming your hips, thighs and ass, before he spoke up again.

“Lay your pretty ass on the couch, let me take care of you baby.” He asserts with a harsh slap to your barely covered behind.

The moan you’ve tried so hard to conceal finally found its way out, making Eddie release a breathy laugh into your neck.

“I knew you’d like that,” Eddie shook his head in utter disbelief “now get on the couch princess, I don’t wanna have to punish you, okay?” His assertive voice grew soft, as if trying to scale your reaction to his little game.

You practically pounced on the couch, not having to be told twice. You were a ready and willing participant in whatever game Eddie wanted to play with you, as long as he continued touching and talking to you, you’d do just about anything he wanted.

You laid back on the black leather couch, your head touching the cracked armrest. Eddie stalked up like a predator to prey. “Nope,” he said with a pop of the p, “I want you like this..” he manhandles you into position. Your head on the lower backrest of the couch, your ass slightly hanging off the cushion as he lifts your legs up while simultaneously pulling them apart.

Your skirt now hiked up to your belly and your white panties on full display, along with the quarter sized wet spot in the middle of your center.

“Stay right there.” Eddie commands with a wag of his finger.

He saunters over to the stereo, grabbing for a cassette to slip on, most likely to hide your wails and moans that he’s going to gladly pull from you.

He doesn’t ask you what tape you want, again. Choosing one he knows will conceal your cries of pleasure.

You continue to do your best by holding yourself in place, not wanting to move and disobey what Eddie had asked of you.

It takes you a while to place what song he’s chosen to play, and in that moment you couldn’t be anymore grateful that you have an older metalhead sibling.

Dragon time by Saint Vitus booms through the speakers. The slow melodic voice, heavy shreds of the guitar and overall trippy work of the instruments was the perfect soundtrack for fucking.

Eddie wastes no time, before you can even comprehend what’s going on; he’s kneeling in front of you, face so close to your dripping wet pussy.

He makes quick work of pulling your panties off of your body, like he’s unwrapping the gift he’s been waiting ages for on Christmas morning.

His eagerness makes you giggle.

Eddie flashes you a warning look, as if to say “be quiet or I’ll make you be quiet.” You got the message loud and clear. He grabs at your thighs, once again pulling them back; your knees now resting on the leather of the backrest above your head, your pussy open and on full display like a beautiful painting just for him.

“Wow,” Eddie whispers to himself in complete and utter fascination, “you’re a fucking dream.” He utters again, while moving in closer to your glistening cunt.

He nudges your clit with the tip of his nose, making you whimper at the swift shock to your bundle of nerves.

Eddie smiles up at you through his lashes, offering you a cocky grin before he sticks his tongue out and kitten licks at your clit, the silver ball on his tongue adding the most perfect friction. His eyes never leave yours as he gently gives it a few more flicks.

The whole thing was so intimate, yet downright filthy. You loved it, loved everything Eddie was willing to give you.

“Fuck!” You groan, as his lips gently wrap around your sensitive nub and begins suckling. It felt like heaven, you couldn’t help but throw your head back in complete ecstasy.

Eddie continued lapping at your pussy while occasionally sucking or fucking you with his tongue.

He was right, he’s really fucking good at this.

Once Eddie slipped two fingers in and curled them up, you were a goner. Your body shaking and writhing as he sucked your clit while fucking you on his heavily ringed and tattooed digits. His left hand slowly rubbed up and down on your right thigh, while continually repeating how tight you were for him.

As you were cumming the hardest you’ve ever come, Eddie slipped his drenched pruney fingers from your sopping hole and grabbed both thighs hiking them up higher. He continued to suck on your clit, but this time it was with more pressure as he shook his head back and forth, for what you could only assume was for maximum pleasure.

“Holy shit! I’m cumming so hard!” You shouted over the music still playing in the background, “please don’t stop!” You began repeating to yourself like a prayer.

Once your body stopped shaking and your moans died down, Eddie popped his head up from between your thighs. He assed your face before asking “how was that?” As if your screams and cries weren’t enough of an answer.

“That was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You say with a serious yet fucked out face, Eddie snorts at your words while letting go of your legs, they softly fall to the floor and you’re convinced if you tried to use them in any capacity, they would completely fail you.

“Do you need help, baby?” Eddie sweetly asks while holding out his hand for you to take.

You tentatively place your smaller hand in his, pulling yourself up on shaky legs. You flush with embarrassment when you feel a combination of Eddie’s spit and your juices spill down your inner thighs.

Eddie swiftly throws you over his shoulder, as if you weigh nothing, practically skipping off to what you presume was his bedroom, “Eddie, I could’ve walked!” You yelp.

“Well, your legs were shaky and what better way to thank you for letting me eat your sweet pussy, than to escort you straight to my bed, hmm?” He grunts as he slaps your exposed ass before lightly throwing you down onto his black silky sheets.

Eddie begins removing his leather jacket, harshly placing it over his brown wooden desk chair that was off to the side, then he makes quick work at removing his band shirt, haphazardly tossing it somewhere in the mess of his room, to be dealt with later. His tattoos once again capture your full attention, but this time you didn’t shy away from letting your eyes roam, you let them venture from his chest and arms to the “choking hazard” that made your heart race in your chest; you needed him, you needed him like the hot needs the sun.

As Eddie moves in closer, you notice the only thing left on his body are his damp red boxer shorts, your eyes selfishly roam his body, again. Finally meeting his chocolate brown orbs, as he hovers over you. A shaky breath is released from your mouth, a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding in.

“Is this okay?” Eddie asks, sensing your nervousness. You nod as your doe eyes stare up at him, Eddie could’ve exploded; both heart and another organ, at the look you were giving him, so sweet and innocent, he fucking loved it.

“Yeah, it’s more than okay.” You reassure with a whisper, while studying Eddie’s face; his dark glazed over yet caring eyes, the light freckles on his nose and his beautiful swollen, kiss bitten lips.

He moves in closer rubbing his nose against yours, you close the gap for a second time tonight by bringing your lips to his in a hungry, lust filled kiss.

Eddie sucks on your bottom lip before his tongue makes entrance into your mouth. It’s sloppy and messy and spit filled and the pleasure of it goes straight between your legs. So much so, you cannot contain the desperate moans and whimpers that slip out, especially as Eddie begins to rub his rapidly growing cock against your very exposed pussy.

“You sound so pretty for me, baby.” Eddie whispers into your neck, “don’t stop making those noises okay? If I’m making you feel good I need to know, I don’t give a fuck how loud you get, understand?” He says as you both now realize the tape has stopped playing in the living room.

“Okay.” You shyly whisper back before biting at your tender, bottom lip.

Before Eddie has the chance to kiss you again, you speak up; still rather shyly. “Can I um, can I ask you a question?” Your voice is almost as low as the humming of the refrigerator in his kitchen, but thankfully Eddie hears you.

“You can ask me anything, sweet girl.” He says in a tone almost as low as yours.

“This is stupid but um have you ever gotten t-tested before?” You stutter out as your chest warms with embarrassment.

“Like for std’s?” Eddie says louder this time, almost in mild disbelief that you’d bring that up in the middle of what was happening, as that’s a question you usually ask beforehand.

You nod your head, feeling slight mortification while looking at everything in the room but Eddie.

“Yeah actually, I just got tested a few weeks ago.” He says while reaching in his night stand, a crinkle from paper could be heard as he whips the results from a test he had taken exactly three weeks ago out and in front of your face. “I don’t keep it in there for times like this, cause I know that’s where your mind will go.” He says with a huff of laughter.

You laugh back, playfully swatting at his chest.

“You know me too well, already.” You quip as you shake your head in disbelief that he has read you so well in just mere hours.

“What about you?” He asks, making your smile slightly falter into something more serious.

“Yeah, I actually had to get tested after Troy cheated on me, just to be sure. Ya know?” You said with a hint of glumness to your words. “I'm clean, and I haven’t been with anyone sense, so…” you trail off, while uncomfortably shifting underneath him.

Eddie studies your face for a few second before his head moves in closer to your ear, “are you asking because you want me to fuck you raw, sweetheart?” His words alone make you whimper, a little from embarrassment but mostly just because he’d picked up on exactly what you were trying to put down.

You nod with a “mmhm” that sounded more sexual than intended.

“Want to feel every inch of my cock in that tight little pussy, don’t you?” His cocky words and smirk to match made you want to cower away while simultaneously wanting to flip him over and ride him until your legs were sore. But you did no such thing. Instead you nod your head, again. This time with a seductive bat of your lashes as you bite at your bottom lip.

“Dirty girl.” He playfully snides before taking a chunk of skin on your neck between his teeth and gently biting, before sucking and soothing with the ball of his tongue ring.

You moan out into the dim light of his bedroom, your head falls deeper into his silk sheets as your back arches, pushing your clothed breasts into Eddie’s chest. The position allows him more access to leave all the marks he so pleased.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull out once I’m inside you, angel.” Eddie growls into your neck, before biting and sucking at more of your sensitive skin.

“You don’t have to.” You exhale with the sweetest most feminine moan Eddie has heard by far.

“Oh?” He chuckles before placing a few more wet kisses along your jawline to make you squirm.

“You want me to cum inside you too, sweet girl?” He shakes his head with a tsk, “Angel's not much of an angel at all, is she?” Eddie smirks at his teasing before going back to his work of leaving wet kisses across the skin of your neck.

You continue to moan and writhe at his provoking words, the burning in your belly feels like it’s rapidly spreading, and the only thing that can put it out is him, inside you.

Eddie begins to grow slightly impatient at your lack of words; his fingers make quick work at grabbing your cheeks with a little more force than you’ve been used to, tonight. “I asked you a question, baby. Do you want me to cum inside your pussy?”

Your eyes widen while his bore down into yours as if he’s so enamored by you, like he was genuinely looking at you for the first time. Not just a girl he wanted to sleep with, no. A girl he wanted to be with, a girl he wanted to grow with.

“Say it.” He growls. His fingers tighten on your cheeks, but not hard enough to cause pain. Even if they did you wouldn’t tell Eddie to stop, this side of him was one you were curious and enthralled to see more of.

“Yes. I want you to cum inside me, Eddie.” You whimper into his lips as they hover over yours, before continuing your desperate plea. “I’m on the pill.” You finish, before grabbing the back of Eddie’s head and crashing his lips back into yours, but before you could settle into the kiss, he pulls away.

Your eyes are still half lidded from the kiss before you realize his tattooed fingers are making work at removing the clips on your white corset top.

Your best guess would be around close to 40 small clasps, but Eddie’s dexterous fingers remove them all in under minutes.

He flings the white top open after the last obstacle has been removed. Gently pulling it from around your back and throwing it to meet his shirt and jeans somewhere scrawled on the mess of his bedroom floor.

He removes his knee from its kneeling position between your legs, standing up on both socked feet to take in your form. His eyes look dark and hungry while they explore every part of you that you have so gracefully exposed to him.

“You’re so beautiful and gorgeous…just fucking perfect, sweetheart.” He coos before moving back into his previous position of hovering over you, both hands taking place on each side of your head.

His arm tattoos, protruding veins and muscles are now eye level. You take in every tattoo from a flock of bats, to an “HF” in some old English font, to the name ‘Wayne’ in a heart tattoo on his chest. There were so many; you’d have to explore them later.

“Can I see all of you?” You ask, too timidly for your own liking.

Eddie’s warmth leaves yours, again. He works quickly, thumbing his boxers down and clumsily kicking them off of his left leg.

You chuckle at his uncoordinated actions, before your breath hitches in your throat; his cock now your sole focus and you couldn’t look at anything else in this moment if you tried.

It’s fat, long and the silver jewelry on his tip makes you clench your thighs together, but also kind of terrifies you at the same time.

His head is an angry red, some beads of precum have worked its way onto the jewelry. Everything about him has you salivating.

“It’ll fit, baby.” He sighed, you were surprised at the lack of cockiness in his voice. You wondered how many women’s eyes bulged at the sight of him, for him to be so used to having to quell away worries.

Not important, you’re here now.

“With the piercing too? Will that hurt?” You scrunch your nose up at the thought of it hurting your insides. No one you’ve ever been with had piercings, hell they didn’t even have tattoos, so this was all so new.

Eddie snorts “no, I promise it won’t hurt, the whole point is to bring you extreme pleasure. That’s all I intend to do.” He admits while moving to lift your skirt up, giving him a better view of your still glistening sex. The manicured hair on top of your mound now wet and shiny, too.

“How do you want me?” He asks as his fingertips ghost over your still sensitive clit.

“Can I be on top?” You hesitantly ask, you figured the position would give your body more control, or maybe that’s just what you’re telling yourself so you feel like you have some semblance of jurisdiction.

“Yeah baby, you can be on top.” Eddie nods while licking at his lips, he pulls you up so he can lay, now mirroring your previous position.

He sits up, pulling off your last article and letting the skirt meet the same fate as the other garments.

Eddie grabs your hips with both hands, moving you closer to straddle his lap. His cock lays flat upwards towards his belly button, so big you couldn’t help but to sit on the shaft. Warm skin on skin making you and Eddie moan out, as you maneuver yourself to get comfortable.

You’re still a soaked mess from Eddie’s earlier ministrations between your thighs, making the glide against Eddie’s shaft that much more delicious. “Fuck, angel!” He groans as his jaw tightens and his head falls back in complete and utter bliss.

“I need you inside me, Eddie.” You whisper into his jaw before you begin your trek down his neck to his chest. Leaving sloppy kisses of your own.

Eddie harshly grabs your ass with one hand, fingers prodding roughly into the fleshy globe while reaching down to wrap his other hand around his cock, giving it a few slow but forceful strokes before he begins lining his tip up with your dripping hole.

Once he’s finally breached your entrance, Eddie steadily holds your hips as if to keep you from taking too much at a time. His girth is stretching you open, so much that your eyes begin to slightly water and your breathing gets ragged. You can feel the silver jewelry sliding against your walls, you can feel it as you take him inch by mouth watering inch.

“Oh my god!” You and Eddie both groan in unison, as more curses slip out of Eddie’s mouth, yours drops open in a silent moan. Everything almost too much; while simultaneously not being even close to enough.

“Holy shit, you’re so fucking tight, baby.” Eddie whimpers.

You remove your hands that were digging harshly into Eddie’s shoulders, replacing them onto his sticker littered wooden headboard. The way he continued to split you open slowly, methodically had you gripping the wood so hard your knuckles began to whiten. The action brought your chest closer to Eddie’s face, he wasted no time before he began kissing, sucking and licking at your hardened nipples, his tongue ring gliding ever so sensually over the stiffened buds.

Finally, after your slow work of sinking down onto Eddie’s cock, it’s now sheathed entirely inside of you, along with the help of Eddie’s thumb rubbing small circles into your clit.

Your whole body was buzzing, you felt high and drunk off of Eddie, not only with having him inside of you but by the sounds that were slipping out of his pretty mouth, too many “fuck, babys” and “holy shits” to keep count.

Your hands grip the headboard even tighter as you use it as leverage to help you begin bouncing up and down on Eddie’s painfully hard cock, while he begins to lose it below you.

His hands move from your hips now that you’re fully seated on him, down to your ass. Taking two handfuls, fingers grabbing so tight his nails are breaching your skin, almost like he’s afraid you’d disappear.

“Fuck yes, baby. Keep bouncing on my cock!” He growls before slapping one of the cheeks he’d been clutching for dear life. Your skin easily heats up at the force, the spank brought you more pleasure than you ever thought it would. You had decided right then that you wanted Eddie to be rougher with you.

“Please—” you begin, already too fucked out to string together a simple sentence.

“Hmm?” Eddie hums with a teasing lilt behind his words “what was that, angel? Please what? Huh?”

Your eyes begin to water again, not from the teasing but from the rapidly growing fire in the pit of your stomach, one you’ve never had the pleasure of feeling, until now.

You swallow away the spit that is now coating your tongue, before you try speaking again.

“Please, don’t be gentle. I n-need you to fuck me.” You do nothing to hide the shaky rasp in your sweet voice, Eddie can already feel you squeezing him, he knows you’re close.

So he takes matters into his own hands, regaining the control he so often enjoys.

He quickly flips you both over, deja vu of the position you’d first been in when Eddie threw you on his bed.

He makes haste work of grabbing his cock and slamming it back into you, this time giving you no warnings or slow thrusts. No, he’s giving you exactly what you so desperately begged for.

Eddie hikes your legs up by the backs of your knees. The position pushes him in deeper, so deep you can feel him in your abdomen.

“Fuck!” You whine “you’re so deep!” You can practically feel Eddie’s piercing drag against your spot, a spot you’ve only ever been able to reach once with your fingers at a time when you were particularly too horny, but it didn’t feel like this.

“I know I am, baby. I can see my dick in your belly.” He titters before he removes one hand from your leg, placing it on top of your lower stomach where his cock is protruding from, he rubs it as if he’s trying to jack himself off through your skin.

“You feel that?” He says while slowly thrusting in and out of your aching pussy. You glance down to get a better look, nodding your head with the smallest “mmhm” to follow.

He smirks at you with a wink before he’s back to the hard rough thrusts you so shamelessly begged for.

“Mmm, pussys so good princess. Can’t wait to fill her up, have her leaking my cum for hours.” He huskily groans into the skin of your neck.

His thrusts are relentless, and the fire in the pit of your stomach, returns with a vengeance.

“Oh fuck!” You wail as you feel the beginnings of a very intense orgasm, “I’m gonna—” you continue your shouts of pleasure. “Oh my god, Eddie!”

“That’s it, Angel. Cum for me.” He growls into your lips before moving in for a searing, passionate kiss.

“I’ve never—” the words die on your tongue, as the overwhelming sense of contemptment grips your body.

“No one’s ever made you cum on their cock, baby?” Eddie questions

His eyebrows are pinched as he stares into your eyes. His thrusts slow, making the semblance of a sweet release dissipate.

“No, no one’s ever made me cum but myself.” You bashfully confess.

Eddie’s thrusts come to a full stop, his eyes feel like they’re burning holes into your sockets. He clenches his jaw before shooting you a look of empathy, like he’s so sorry no one’s ever taken care of you before, but he’s here now and that's all he wants, to continue taking care of you, forever.

“Hold on to me, sweet girl.” He softly mutters “I’m gonna make you feel so good, okay?” It’s not said in a cocky, ‘I know I can make you cum’ kind of way, but more so in an ‘I’ll do anything you need to make you cum’ kind, and if he was thrusting any faster, those words would’ve been the thing to pull you under, deep into that ocean of orgasmic bliss.

You wrap your legs around Eddie’s lower back while throwing your hands around his neck, clinging on to him like some kind of koala to a tree.

Eddie smirks at your actions; fuck, if you weren’t the cutest fucking thing in the world.

His thrusts begin to pick up, gradually until they’re fast and unforgiving. He begins kissing and sucking on a spot he’s found that makes you squirm and moan.

He brings his thumb up to rub along your bottom lip, the calluses on his finger glide so smoothly on your spit soaked skin.

“Suck.” He demands into your ear, his words willing you to open up, taking the digit onto your tongue before closing. You make a little show of ‘how deep will it go?’ before finally popping off and leaving it drenched with your spittle.

He brings his saturated thumb in between your bodies and begins rubbing small gentle circles on your clit, making your body jolt at the shock of pleasure.

Your legs begin to shake and your limbs begin to tighten around Eddie, your head falls back and the words you wanna scream that are on the tip of your tongue, just won’t come out.

“That’s it, that’s it, Angel.” Eddie whispers to you with his head in the crook of your neck, “squeezing me so fucking tight, baby.” He tenderly growls, “you’re doing so good for me. Just let go, let go and cum on my cock.” He mumbles those last words before giving the spot on your neck a particularly hard suck.

His praise mixed with his pierced cock stretching you out and the attention to your neck; throws you so hard over that precipice, you’ve just been aching to fall from.

This orgasm was life changing, earth shattering, all consuming.

Once you’d fully come to, Eddie begins planting little kisses to your face and neck, repeating how good you did, and what a good girl you are for him.

“It’s my turn, baby.” Eddie whispers before he's pounding you into his mattress, deep hard strokes and filthy words.

“I’m gonna ruin your sweet little cunt for anyone else, you hear me?” He practically snarls “Tight fucking pussy, just for me.” He continues, “you ready baby? You ready for daddy’s cum?” His body stiffens before he begins groaning and babbling incoherently.

As he cums you treat his neck as he treated yours, leaving sloppy kisses and sucking little purple marks into his ivory skin.

Once his body has relaxed, you can feel his release dripping out of you and onto his silk sheets, but he makes no effort to move, his knees stay planted on the bed so as not to completely squish you while his head burrows into your breasts.

He sighs like he’s the most comfortable he’s ever been while you begin rubbing your nails gently across his scalp and playing with his brown curly strands.

The silence is comfortable for a few minutes as you both come back into your bodies from such intense climaxes.

Eddie’s body stiffens a bit as he looks up at you from between your chest.

“Can you be mine?” He timidly asks, as if a kid asking for candy.

“Yes, I’m yours Eddie.”

🏷️ list

Smoke trembled past his lips in stuttered bursts.

It was Eddie’s second cigarette of the morning. Not completely out of the ordinary for him; sometimes he needed a second one when Adrie gave him trouble before preschool, or if he had a bad night’s sleep and relied on nicotine to help delay the impending headache, but that’s not why he was smoking again today. Adrie woke up, got dressed, brushed her teeth, and told him she loved him in the carpool lane. She was a dream. His nightmare, on the other hand, was coming to fruition. Because of course he couldn’t remember where he’d set his wallet if it weren’t chained to his pants on a sober day, but drinking enough to where he should’ve been plastered? He remembered it all. He remembered it all.

Oh, he remembered it all.

And when he heard the front employee door to the auto shop unlock, he held his breath, and counted down the routine seconds for you to pop your head out in the alleyway and greet him, and when it didn’t happen.. He knew you remembered too.

The morning smile did not come. No greeting. No laughter. Just nothing. Nothing happened except for the glass door to the lobby opening, and you going inside.

He fucked up. He fucked up. He fucking fucked up.

He made things weird, and now you were avoiding him, as you had every right to after he tried to initiate phone sex without warning— Consent? Consent. Both of you were inebriated to some degree, and he’d never felt more like a creep.

Oh, God.

His knees went weak.

Anxious bile sloshed in his seizing stomach. His face broke out in a cold sweat. Knots constricted tighter. Heart beating in his throat. Decisions—mistakes—put stars in his vision. His world was ending, and it pounded at his temples. This was it. This was it. He fucked up.

“Good morning, hand—Oh?”

Eddie froze.

You leaned more than your head out the door, and stepped onto the concrete slab. All your tender attention was on him, studying his pale face, and his hunched form. Your eyebrows swooped in worry at how he was crouched to the reedy weeds instead of standing tall with his back against the gray bricks. A frown slighted your smile, insulting your beauty when you saw him bent down, knees to his chest, holding his head while his other hand shook hard enough the cigarette pinched between his fingers fell amongst the rocks.

“Eddie? You don’t look good. Are you okay?”

His lips parted.

Was he dreaming? Was the lift of delight in your tone when you first went to greet him, and then the drop to concern ebbing your voice deeper when he appeared ill a figment of his imagination? Were you about to call him handsome? Was this the second chance he didn’t deserve?

“Eddie?”

“Yeah!” His exclamation helped him stand, and the twitch of your lips battled his nausea. “Yeah, I just had a long night,” he lied.

Lightheaded, he concentrated on keeping balanced in his woozy lurch towards the wall.

Sharp edges of rocks slid against one another under your winter boots. “Aw, I’m sorry.” Your apology was sincere, as was your silly quirk of swinging your arms to point finger guns towards the garage. “I brought donuts this morning, and went ahead and made coffee, so they’re both fresh if you’re the type to dunk.” You mimicked dunking a donut into a mug of coffee. “Maybe it’ll make you feel better?”

Endearing. Genuinely, honestly, so fucking adorably endearing.

“Yeah, that sounds great right now.” The pet names returned to their restricted status for now. He had to know for sure. “Did you, uh, like playing with us Saturday?” It was a coward’s way to dance around the real question burning his esophagus, but it was a valiant introduction.

“I did! It was a lot of fun. I’m glad you invited me. And, hey, uhm, I didn’t say anything weird to your friends, or anything like that, did I?”

“No, you didn’t,” he responded in an even tone, stomping his curiosity from fluctuating his cadence with hopefulness when you chose that of all things to ask him.

“Good! My memory went a little fuzzy after my fourth drink, you know, when Lloyd kept trying to get us to sing along to that adventuring song he made up. I didn’t know if I said anything weird, or rude, or something by accident.”

Salvation reigned upon him.

Eddie’s lungs allowed him to breathe at the kindness alcohol spared him, and finally, he could relax. Your fretting stemmed from making a good impression on his friends, and with his reassurance, you stopped fidgeting at your nails, and the color returned to his cheeks. “You don’t need to worry about that. Seriously, they loved you.” His grin struggled to blossom. “Do you not remember anything else?”

In contrast, your grin was a field of wildflowers swaying under the summer sun.

“Not really, it’s pretty spotty around the time they left, but I do remember a few things,” you said, taking another step towards him. “I remember you throwing a napkin at the back of my head. I remember falling asleep in Robin’s car. I also remember asking her to pull over on the side of the road. I remember waking up in the living room, on her dad’s recliner of all places. And boy! do I remember being hungover.”

Closing the few feet of distance remaining, your confidence was established in your ability to pinch the sleeve of his coveralls and tug at it in a playful, flirty way, coasting your frosted sigh over his embroidered name patch.

You claimed him, heart and soul, “But I remember us dancing, too. I’m so glad I remember us dancing.” Softer, “You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met, you know that?”

“I’m the sweetest?” he repeated in a mumble, complying with the tug to open his arm in a curve, which you fit into.

“Of course you are. You sure you’re not sick? You still look like you’re about to puke.”

As if your grip on his tricep wasn’t enough of an anchor on reality, the backs of your fingers gliding down his cheek were, checking his temperature like he was worthy of being doted on. A fortunate thing, a blessing; having your hand guide him from the river Styx with a simple brush, thumb tracing the edge of his lip.

Yeah, his heart clenched. “I’m okay,” he rushed to whisper, wanting the words to sprint after your fingers falling from his chin. He kept the connection alive by copying the stroke along your spine, over your denim jacket. 

The wintry redness returned to his face, he knew. His racing pulse brought it there, splotching warmth to his skin. There was not enough bravery in the world to ask how much of the dance you recalled; whether your memory ended at your head on his chest, or your wrist to his lips, or your foreheads together with your noses smashed to the other’s cheek, but he did gleam one thing for certain.

You beamed up at him with eager eyes, as if those intimacies flashed in the sun’s reflection, and you wanted more of them.

He said, “I think I’ll feel better after a donut. Or three.”

“Or a nap, or three,” you countered.

“Sweetheart,” he exhaled, a rasp present in his throat from smoking, “I’m not gonna waste my time napping when I could be eating donuts with you.”

A wry laugh played at your lips. “How romantic.”

“I’ve been known to be romantic from time to time.”

You hummed in interest, arching an eyebrow. It was a challenge. Oh, really? you asked. Show me, then, you said.

Stepping back, you dragged your hand down his arm and embraced the motion, seeing it through to his elbow, forearm, the heel of his palm. Feeling but a faint outline of his form beneath the thick sleeve of his canvas jacket and light blue coveralls, yet still clinging to him as if he were your heater. Your warmth. Another body laying next to you in a cold bed.

“C’mon, handsome.” You urged him inside by your feeble grip around the stretchy knit cuff covering the plastic bead bracelet around his wrist. “Let's see if getting some caffeine in you helps you look less like a corpse.”

He snorted, and obeyed. “Whatever you say, dear.”

By all means, it seemed you didn’t remember the phone call. No doubt you were stone cold sober for the bad jokes, dorky innuendos, and inappropriate behavior that would be frowned upon at work, but you didn’t bring those up, so he didn’t either. He was in the clear.

Fate forgave him. And now, he could move on with the ‘thank you’ he owed you in good faith.

————

It was days later when your stapler ran out of staples.

You clamped it shut a few more times until you realized, and opened the second drawer on the short filing cabinet beneath your desk. After a cool slide of metal on metal came a rattle. Instead of your extra sticky notes, folders, and office supplies being visible, a foreign object sat on top of them. Perplexed, you reached in and grasped the lime green box. An index card was taped to it, and removing it jolted the waxy candies inside, sliding them against the cardboard in a merry cascade.

Setting the Mike and Ikes aside, you read the thin, angular handwriting on the note, written in red.

DO YOU WANT TO GO ON A DATE WITH ME? (circle one)

              YES    or   NO

ARE YOU ONLY SAYING YES BECAUSE ITS YOUR POLICY?

              YES    or   NO

By outward appearances, your mouth was tugged downwards at the corners, but make no mistake, it was not a frown. No, no. What your expression was overcome with was so sentimental, so empathetic, you had to pout.

Besotted, you hugged the card to your chest, and reflected on the heaviness of his expectant gaze when he passed by your desk this week. The longer eye contact, the anticipatory lift of his eyebrows wrinkling his forehead when you waved at him. He must’ve put this in your drawer days ago, and you had kept him waiting by accident, poor guy.

You weren’t about to keep him in suspense any longer.

(Though, maybe he should’ve put it in the top drawer, which you opened daily for your highlighters, if he wanted a quicker response.)

Pen to paper, you selected your answers, jotted a line, and tucked the notecard inside a manila folder with two invoices he needed to fill out. You pushed your rolly chair away from the desk, and dug through your purse before going to the breakroom where Eddie sat hunched over the round table, shoveling a chicken Rice-a-Roni meal in his mouth (haphazardly) with his left hand while writing in his DND notebook with his right.

You stood at the vending machine with your hip jutted out, sinking to one side with utmost concentration on your pursed lips, perusing the rows of choices. There were just so, so many categories to choose from. Chips, candy, chocolates. How could you ever decide? You crossed your arms, and tapped your chin at the dilemma, taking your time. This was a wise use of your work hours, of course. Flirting with your coworker by passing notes, and watching the side profile of his smirk break through his curtain of curls in the glass reflection.

Finally, you settled on F4, and slotted in your quarters, punching those buttons.

The Kit Kat bar was deposited in a loud clunk.

“Hey, didn’t know if you saw,” you started casually, and held the manila folder out to him with an imposing grimace, “but you forgot to fill out a couple of lines at the bottom of these invoices. Can’t have you slipping up, and not finishing your paperwork before working on your little roleplaying game, now can we?”

Eddie shifted his gaze from the bulky folder failing to stay pinched closed, to your face. Fawning, he arched into an overly apologetic expression to match your performance, and placed a hand over his heart. “Oh, no, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. Did I forget to do that? Silly me.”

“Better not let it happen again, Mr. Munson,” you warned, placing it on the table and leaving.

“Never, never,” he promised.

Back at your desk, you sat in your chair, calm and poised. And approximately two seconds later, you kicked off the floor into a fierce spin, dizzying the lobby around you. The place was a blur, your stomach swirled, and still, your goofy grin refused to wane. But, you did stop eventually. The antics had to come to an end. You did have work to do, afterall.. Which you ignored when you heard him rip into the foil wrapper in the other room, and you couldn’t possibly concentrate on calling a warehouse to check on an order of headlights when your ears were tuned to the flimsy chair scraping across the tile, and his heavy work boots stomping down the hall.

“Filled out those forms for ya, sweetness,” Eddie said with a wink.

There was a weight to the manila folder when he dropped it on your desk, and tapped twice on his way out to the garage. Not a physical weight, but a gravity that wasn’t there before, now concentrated in his keen eye contact. An invisible significance.

The relationship had changed, just then, in the trade off of boring invoices.

Opening the folder, the index card was deemed more important than the paperwork. Your gaze stalled on the thick circles around YES, and NO. Yes, you’d go on a date with him, and no, it wasn’t because of your policy. Below them, your thick handwriting flowed together.

what did you have in mind?

I RETURNED THOSE KIDS MOVIES FOR YOU.

  YOU CAN THANK ME FOR SAVING YOU

    THE LATE FEE BY WATCHING SOME

       HORROR WITH ME AT MY PLACE

PICK YOU UP SATURDAY AT 6?

Fighting back another sickeningly stupid willowy sigh at his charm, you wrote a lovesick reply.

In usual Eddie fashion, he left the very last box on the second form blank, so you had to go out to the service area, and address the mechanic bent over a car engine. Not that you were complaining. The back of his coveralls hugged the slight curve of his ass, and his hair was not only pulled into a low bun at his nape, but he wore a bandana tied to keep his bangs off his forehead.

“Hey there handsome, couldn’t help but notice you left the date box on this form blank again.”

“Oh, did I, pretty girl?” He spun, and rolled his eyes to mock himself. Wiping the grease from his hands on his coveralls, he took your pen. “It’s my old age, y’know. Things always slippin’ my mind.” Mumbling to himself, he pressed his palm to the back of the folder, and sketched out a sentence into the page longer than a few numbers warranted. During the arduous process, he looked at you with sorrow, and complained, “These dates are just so tedious to write out, it may just take me all night to complete.”

You refused to give him the satisfaction of a smirk at his (possible) insinuation.

All night? He wished.

Eddie surrendered the folder and pen, and smiled at you, stretching the streak of soot on his chin and cheek. “There you go. All filled out. Not a ‘T’ uncrossed, nor an ‘I’ left undotted.”

“Thank you,” you over-enunciated as a goodbye.

The very second the glass door came to a slow close behind you, you sat at your desk with the folder, and threw a subtle glance out the window to the garage to make sure Eddie wasn’t watching you lose your mind over two short words exchanged in quick succession.

sounds perfect :)

YOURE PERFECT =)

For the second time since you moved to Hawkins, you had a date. And judging by Eddie’s sway from foot to foot with his hands laced behind his neck and his head hung back, listening to the traffic outside echo off the cement walls, he was thrilled for his second date, too. He dropped into a steady bob at music that wasn’t playing. A too-large grin teased at his mouth as he paced to the motor he was repairing, and bent over it. His boyish excitement spilled like an overpoured mug of coffee into his unabashed giggle, and glance in your direction.

Eyes locked, he didn’t steal your breath. You gave it to him willingly.

————

Saturday’s setting sun was just another audience member to your date night routine. Robin and her mom leaned in the doorway of the bathroom the entire time you were shaving, and due to the opacity of the shower curtain, you were unable to convey your glare to the degree it deserved.

“Well, why doesn’t she wear this instead?”

There was a shock of laughter mixed with Robin’s scoff. “Mom, if she wore that Eddie would pass out on the spot. What if he hit his head, and they had to call an ambulance? You know she can’t drive him to the hospital. No, this bra still gives sex appeal without causing an injury. And besides, calling 9-1-1 would put a damper on them—”

“Rob,” you groaned.

“—spending a wonderful evening together,” she finished.

The thunk of a walking cane neared, and her dad’s hoarse voice sounded from down the hallway, “My! The rowdy Munson boy is getting lucky tonight, is he?” he proposed in a faux British accent after watching BBC nature documentaries all day. “Do you think he’d have dinner with us tomorrow? We haven’t seen him since Robin threw that New Year’s party years ago, and almost set the roof on fire.”

Oh dear God get me out of here.

Once you were finished with your shower, freshly scrubbed and smelling nice, you humored them by wearing the outfit they picked out. It was pretty much what you would’ve worn anyway. A short black skirt made modest by nylon tights to stave off the chill from Eddie’s trailer, and an oversized crocheted cream cardigan with tiny pink flowers, the hem of which hit you at your waist, showing a tempting preview of your stomach when you raised your arms to fix your hair. The pale lavender bra (the reason for their debate), was covered by the aforementioned sweater, and you weren’t sure if the sheerness of the lace mattered much when Eddie’s daughter may be present, or in the next room over. It didn’t occur to you to ask if he’d have Adrie with him, so, such is life. The bra may stay a secret despite their efforts to doll you up. But the sudden realization he may see you in it tonight clenched your stomach with excitement..

The clock struck 5:55, and an ominous roll of thunder put everyone on edge. It electrified nerves, and stood hair on end, setting forth premonitions of bad weather and foul fortune. Doom, it was; and it came, and came, neverending. Except.. It wasn’t thunder. It was Eddie Munson’s brutal music.

His little black car came flying down the road, and swung into the driveway, screeching to a halt heralded by flung rocks spat by his tires, and a flock of songbirds splitting the sky.

And yet?

Charm bowed before Eddie’s easy strut. Pebbles dodged his stride. Clouds of hellish dust evaded the shine on his laced up boots. His tight jeans flaunted the subtle flex of his thighs, and his belt sloped on his narrow hips with each uneven stride, daring the world to stare at the extra length of stiff leather flopping outside the confines of the belt loops, attracting all the attention he desired to the places he wanted.

You were still in the living room struggling with the buckle on your Mary Janes when the intense, raw screams of his heavy metal music stopped, and the muffled guitars faded away. He showed up, shockingly, on time, and you shot out the door before the heavy slants of sun breaching the leafless trees could beat down on his trademark jacket rattling with dainty chains.

“Hey there, sweetness.”

“Hey!” you blurted in a huff, racing down the steps. Flustered by his punctuality, you made the first move of the night by snatching his hand and dragging him away.

Slighted by your absence of drooling over how cool he looked, Eddie grunted in objection, but let himself be steered away. He glanced over his shoulder at the three faces peering at him from the window, and spared them a tentative wave. They were nosy, but not in the unkind way he was used to, and for that, he was thankful.

You apologized at a hurried pace, “Sorry, but if you step foot on the porch, they’re gonna ask you a bazillion questions, and never let us leave.”

“Ah,” he said, short of a laugh, “but let me get the door for you. Wanna impress them.”

“Impress them?” Dregs of sleepy sunlight highlighted the twist of your lips. “You come in here like a bat outta hell, blaring your music loud enough that I’m surprised you’re not hard of hearing, and you’re worried about impressing Bobbie’s parents?”

Refusing to let your fingers slip from his when he felt your grip go weak, he tightened his hold, and opened the car door with his other hand, sidestepping awkwardly to avoid the wide swing, towing you around him.

“Is that so strange?”

“It’s a little strange.”

“Good.” He established the bond of your palm cupped to his until you sank into the red plush passenger’s seat. At the groan of the hinges, and a hard slap on the metal, he finished, “I like being strange—” Punctuated by the door slamming shut. His cackle was far away. Shrieking silence filled your ears, interrupted by your elevated pulse pounding in your chest, and the tink of a pebble pinging the bumper when one was unfortunate enough to come into contact with his boot as he strode around the front of the car with his hands in his back pockets, stretching his shirt over the curve of his stomach.

What a lovely thing he was, truly. To lord the power of sheer captivation over you, and still ground you with a humble gaze and tender smile through a windshield flecked with dirt, as if stealing one of your five senses was a normal feat and returning it to you wasn’t an act of benevolence.

He folded himself into the seat beside you and staggered his legs until he could relax fully into the position, and turned the key in the ignition. His music took residence in the sense he stole. You tensed in anticipation, but it wasn’t offensive. The previous song was ending, and with you being boxed in with the speakers bullying your ears from every angle, you heard the animalistic screams as something more haunting, more beautiful. They were organic. Emotional. Conveying a longing which flowed into the next track; a restrained piece laced with sweltering lines, where each croaky utterance heated your cheeks fiercer and fiercer. Carnal of a different nature.

Intentionally avoiding eye contact with Eddie, you twisted enough to see the carseat behind you was empty. “No Adrie?” you asked to confirm a suspicion.

“She was invited to a sleepover for one of her friend’s birthday parties tonight,” he said.

You reeled at the information, but not for the reason you assumed. “Wait, what? There’re people out there willing to have a hoard of five-year-olds running around their house? Like, with the screaming and everything?”

“Crazy, right? Some people still have their sanity, I guess.” He stamped the gas and clutch, revving the engine with an amused answer poised on his plump lips. “Or enough downers to get them through the night.”

The guitars increased in ferocity, drowning out his wistful reminiscing on such substances helping him through the day, pre-Adrie.

It was then you noticed an interesting detail about his compact car you didn’t fully appreciate last time you were in it: there was no center console. You didn’t need to check. The lack of separation was confirmed by the heat radiating from his heavy palm draped over the gear shift, and the blunt edge of his nails skimming your tights when he clicked the stick into a lower slot, dragging it along your leg. The armrests were raised, and they too touched at the base. It was no surprise when his long hair swept your clothed shoulder as he twisted around to look out the back window and put the car in reverse, avoiding the Buckley’s dented mailbox, and lurching you against the seatbelt.

The lyrics peaked in sultry aggression.

So, no Adrie. “Am I meeting your uncle, then?” Oh, how your question was thin against the strong note the singer held. His wavering timbre penetrated you in waves, releasing a ripple of tingles from head to toe. Creating a change in the tension existing between you and Eddie when he answered in a deeper register.

“No, he’s uh, he’s gone for the weekend,” he said, drumming his rings on the steering wheel, squeezing his fingers over the gear stick to shift it into drive. “Out playing poker with his friends. So, uh, it’s just you and me. S’that cool?”

So, no Adrie, and no uncle.

“Yeah—Yeah, that’s cool,” you replied. Whereas his voice went lower, yours went higher at the acknowledgement. Fainter, wispier. Fluttery with the nerves in your stomach. Restless like butterfly wings beating on gusts at the explicit implication matching the subject matter pumping through the speakers.

Tonight was your first real date with Eddie, in his trailer, alone.

Soon, the dense thicket of rural Hawkins was replaced by houses and population; gone were the fields of deer, and approaching in a blur were stout brick buildings, and stop lights swinging in the slight breeze.

He slowed at the intersection where Family Video’s neon sign struck red over the black pavement, and stopped. Eddie, being an opportunist, saw the boring wait for the light to turn green as fortuitous. It granted him the ability to gaze upon you as he wished, ready to take you in after your rushed greeting. You had robbed him of the movie-esque scene where he’d walk up to your door, knock three times, greet you with a stunning grin and compliment you until you were giggling and swooning in his arms. It was only fair he drank you in now, in the low liquid blue of the early night.

Beyond bewitched, he didn't register how methodically he traced his eyes over your body; devouring details the generous neckline of your cardigan allowed him, reaching the narrow channel of shadow where your bra assisted your chest, and the small gaps the tiny pink flowers woven into the yarn created in the chain loops, gifting him a charitable preview of the delicate lavender beneath. Appreciating how below that, your skirt wrapped your legs snugger than his arms had ever been privileged, and your tights graced skin he’d never felt. Perhaps he even lingered on the strap of your Mary Janes draped around your ankle, wondering if he’d be lucky enough to circle his fingers there one day, too.

Flattery raced your heart. You’d never been the subject of someone’s study to this degree, as if you were artwork to be admired. Not from any of the dates you’d been on, anyway. Not in a meaningful way, consumed wholly by someone you considered a close friend. And not while a man sang about vulgar acts in a gorgeous way.

Eddie remembered to breathe when green flashed in his periphery, and his gaze evened the playing field when he caught you dedicating entire prayers to the indecent crease at his hip and inner thigh where he rested his large palm.

“Baby, you’re beautiful,” he exhaled.

Not you look beautiful. You are beautiful.

Meeting him head-on, you smiled. “I don’t have the lexicon to describe you.” His expression faltered to a confused pinch between his brows, and you reassured him, “Handsome isn’t good enough anymore. Never was. No words are. They need to invent new ones.”

Leaning in, he scrunched his nose, and teased, “You can just call me hot.” Which would’ve been a decent line; imposing himself so near his words caressed the gloss on your lips, and finishing the hard plosive—Hot—with the bite of his charismatic wolfish grin. But the aggravated honks killed the mood.

Two cars behind him laid on their horns, and he was startled into the reality of holding up traffic. You openly laughed at his change in demeanor, at how he scrambled to get the car going before they got angry again, all flustered and stomping too hard on the gas, sending you both slamming backwards in your seats.

“Yeah, real hot stuff you got goin’ on,” you teased in return.

He stuck his tongue out in concentration as he checked the rearview mirror, speeding to put distance between him and the other cars. Dangerously, he slid his gaze to you once more, prioritizing you over the road. “Are you really gonna deny I'm the hottest guy you’ve ever met? Even with all your city boys, actors, and freaks who’ve been on bigger stages than me? Guys who took you to fancy sit-down restaurants in a suit and tie? Men who drone on about finances because they chose a viable career not covered in grease? Are they really hotter than me?”

His tone was flat, and his face neutral, cracking a cavern of curiosity wide within you.

Your instinct was to treat the insecurity as genuine, but the moment you opened your mouth to restore his confidence, he smirked.

“Just kidding, baby,” he broke the act. “I know I’m the favorite.”

Glowing with confidence, he took his hand off the gear shift to jab at your ribs, but he underestimated how thick the crochet was. Instead of tickling you, it was more of a soothing stroke along your side. And he didn’t stop. He kept up the intimate gesture, brushing the fabric with his curled index finger three times. Giggling, himself, at nothing other than his own thoughts.

Gone was the swell of empathy clogging your throat. “My favorite idiot,” you corrected in an exasperated mumble, yet leaning into the shy affection.

The cassette played static, then began a new song. Angsty still, but not quite as on the nose as the last. This, along with another dig at each other, eased the pressure preventing you two from relaxing into the evening. The awareness revealing itself in nervous glances and dry swallows digressed into your normal dynamic as friends with the benefit of flirty innocence without the stress of expectations. Those motives could stay locked between your clenched thighs, and aching against his jean’s zipper. Tonight was the first foray into real time together, and if you watched movies and it ended there with no moves made, or romantic elements explored, then so be it. There wouldn't be any unnecessary impatience, or snap decisions made to cross those final platonic boundaries if one of you chickened out. This date would be perfect, regardless.

Right?

You could endure another day of him acting confident in front of others, only for him to buckle under the pressure and pussy out before kissing you, right?

..Right?

Whatever. The night was young, and oh, how Eddie’s giddiness for spending time with you emerged. The instant he arrived at the trailer, he jammed his thumb into the seat belt latch and commanded you to stay put. Naturally, this didn’t go without a snort from you, but it escalated to true laughter when he stumbled out of the car, and sprinted around the front in a flustered jangle of chains beating on jeans, only to play it off as cool once he reached your side and opened your door for you. “You’re silly,” you commented. His chest rose with a panting breath, and his lips jumped into a playful smirk at his own oddities. He stepped back, and swept his arm in a classic bow.

The friction burn from the seat belt slipping through your grip was balmed by the chilled leather beneath your fingers when he offered his elbow to you. You set your heeled shoes on the uneven ground, and wobbled on the deep tire tracks scoring the dried mud, and again, he was twisting this way and that, trying to figure out the best gentlemanly way to help you balance. Not that his brave palm on the small of your back wasn’t warranted in the treacherous battle of shadows in the underripe evening, but even you couldn’t stop your snicker when he, too, met you with a side-ways glance.

“Nervous?” you asked, bringing attention to the situation for what it was.

“Me? Nervous?” He arched his eyebrows up, then brought them into a swift furrow. “Nah, never. I’m just making sure my girl doesn’t twist her ankle before I get to cook for her on our second date,” he ended with a suggestive tone, canting his head to yours. Foreheads near.

Ah, the buzzing of springtime bees was trembling your fingers again, gripping him when the hive in your stomach fed honey to your hungry heart, pumping, pumping a sugar rush.

Acknowledgements. His girl. Cooking. Second date.

He was sweet. And you were trapped in the sticky nectar thrumming in your veins. It was a futile effort, after all, to convince yourself you two could act as normal friends do around each other. Truly, you lost that war when you inclined your head to his, and divulged in the same grin he wore.

“Cook for me?” you repeated in a voice of ambrosia, which he partook.

“Mhmm,” he hummed amongst the drone of television programs filtered through bug screened windows. “I wanna watch movies with you, cook you somethin’ nice, and remind you that I’m not the guy I was at the movie theater—” He flinched at the last part, accepting your weak slap to his chest. Pleased with himself for finally swooning you, he trained his gaze on your giggly sway, and squinched his eyes with mirth.

“Eddie, I’m well aware you’re not that guy.”

“Oh?” he lilted. “But aren’t I? Still got the outdated haircut, stick in the mud attitude, and leather jacket.”

You slipped a finger beneath the jacket, and poked at the macabre skull on his tee. “Got a different shirt, though. Last time you were wearing a rattlesnake, now it’s..?”

“Metallica,” he finished. A softer expression deepend his dimple. There may have been a particular meaning behind it you were missing, but he didn’t share. “Good memory, but may I also bring to your attention that it’s fucking freezing out here?”

Overcome by a shiver, you retracted your prodding, and he removed his hand from your lower back. The warmth was sorely missed. You agreed, it was fucking freezing and pantyhose were not a replacement for snow pants.

Eddie jostled the keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door for you to enter first, trailing behind you with a welcome to his humble abode, as if you hadn’t been there several times before. But you supposed the circumstances were different when he showed you in, and a certain coziness defrosted your cheeks. The trailer was lit by a singular lamp in the living room and the nightlight from the bathroom. An electric radiator generated heat near the armrest where his pillow stayed, and at the other end of the couch was a messy pile of blankets in varying textures and thickness. A stack of three VHSes sat on the coffee table near a collection of never-used cork coasters. In the kitchen, a spread of groceries occupied the counter, along with a page from a magazine, but Eddie stole your attention before you could puzzle together the ingredients he laid out.

“So, which one do you wanna start with first?” Eddie asked, drawing your gaze to the VHSes fanned in his palms, fingers stretched wide to contain the movies.

Subtly, he wiggled the one on the end. The green HORROR sticker on the cover appeared new; unblemished, without creases or dirt. You recognized the drippy blood stylized title as the same one printed in the local newspaper warning mothers of its gore and perversions. Less subtly, he darted his eyes to it, and made encouraging noises while presenting it closer to you. It's not like you cared what order you watched his surprise selection in, so you went with the new release he was most eager for, as opposed to the other schlocky B movies.

“Sweet!”

Adorably, he told you to make yourself at home, and you both found yourselves bumping into each other in the entryway. You bent to unbuckle your shoes, and he shrugged off his jacket. Maybe you swung your knee into his shin, and he flopped the leather sleeve atop your head in retaliation. And when you stood, he jabbed his elbow into your arm before kneeling to untie his boots, and you picked a long, curly auburn hair off your sweater, holding it out and away from you as if it were revolting. “Is this what it’s like living with you?” you asked with an excessive amount of mock disgust.

“‘Fraid so,” he consoled, looking up at you as he worked the knot out of his laces. “At least—until I go bald.”

You tilted your head as you tried to picture him without his wild haircut, and after some consideration (and curious fingers kept laced tight to discipline yourself from running them through his curls to test the tamability of such rowdy layers cut without rhyme or reason), you concluded, “I think you’d still be the most attractive person I’ve ever met.”

His expression widened at your honesty. Pushing himself upright, he rocked side to side as he toed off his boots, and stepped beyond them, narrowing the distance between his ego and your lifted eyebrow. “Most attractive? Yeah?”

Before his head swelled to hot air balloon status from a compliment he pried out of you, you stopped him.

“Bald or not, you’re still Eddie,” you expressed. “And that’s what I like about you the most; your Eddieness. Regardless of your hair, you’re still that guy that’s willing to trip over his own feet so he can open a door for me.. and cook for me, apparently.”

You drove your gaze to the ingredients on the counter, but he distracted you from venturing into that part of the date.

“Uh-uh-uh,” he tsked. “Movie first, then dinner. I’ve been wanting to see this one, so make yourself comfortable. Get some blankets too, I know the radiator sucks.” The warmth it gave off rarely brought circulation to his toes when he was sleeping, much less kept him from shivering on the windy nights. “Lemme get us something to drink, and I’ll put on the movie.” He chose to fill two bright red plastic glasses with water and bring them to the coffee table. They were the type of textured cup one would find at a pizzeria, and he set them directly on the wood, because why bother with coasters when most of the varnish had been worn away over the years.

Water itself shouldn’t be a surprise, but the fact he chose it over beer stood out.

Interesting. You made yourself snuggly as instructed, and sat in the middle of the couch where two cushions met. Amongst the pile, you picked the thick blue and white striped comforter, and draped it over your not-quite-numb legs. He crouched in front of the TV, and popped open the VHS case, brushing his calluses over the frosted plastic cover, and shut the case with a satisfying snap. Lining the movie up with the VCR slot, he pushed on the flap, and it was accepted into the mouth of the machine—kuh-chunk, slide, whirring reels, a fuzzy high-pitched noise—staticy snow played, then the first commercial started, flickering a woman’s face mid-scream across the screen.

Eddie turned off the lamp, and in the sudden darkness, he slid his socked feet in timid steps across the carpet to avoid a pinky toe colliding with the coffee table, and he fell into place next to you.

The cushions sank with your combined weight. The seams separating you clashed. Hip, thigh, shoulder. Layers of clothing blazed from the heat of his proximity, setting fire to your cheeks. You weren’t touching, not really, not yet, and you both stared at each other with lips slightly parted.

Your voice went unnaturally airy as you offered him the blanket, “Want some?”

And his voice was lost to the sensation of his bare arm making contact with your sweater.

He nodded.

Predictable for the genre, the next commercial advertised a pair of tits before the camera cut away, and the woman was assumed to be brutally stabbed by a masked serial killer.

He shifted. You shifted.

The comforter slid across your lap. He stole the warm pocket of air you were generating for yourself, and replaced it with the cold half of the blanket. It may have been an innocent movement, but him yanking it caused you to press against him more than you already were. His arm went rigid with tensed muscles the further you sloped into the crevice where the cushions met, stiffening against your soft body like a brick wall you had no choice but to lean on. You tried to help the situation by breaking the silence between the next commercial.

“Do you want to know another Eddieness I find endearing?”

During the first part of your sentence he didn’t react. He watched the TV; jaw tight but not clenched; it was only on the last word did he turn his head, and set those big eyes of his on you.

You went ahead and answered, “It’s how shy you are.”

The hint of a deeper emotion eased from his gaze when he closed his eyes in a slow blink, and raised his brows, processing what you said. “’M not shy.” His smile grew at that, stretching half his mouth in shadow, making his nose appear larger, rounder.

“And awkward.”

“I’m not awkward,” he complained, tone soft and playful.

Lit by the soft grain of the movie starting on a scene of a young boy running inside pitch-black house, Eddie’s eyelashes clung to the remnants of light, curling longer, and longer. His lips lifted at the corners, testing a sneakier grin at the idea of you finding him both shy, and awkward. Words he hadn’t heard in years. Descriptors he would’ve called himself when he was still in high school and dipping his toe in the dating pool, but not since then. Not since he dabbled in liquid courage at parties and gained some experience from the confidence alcohol afforded him.. and lost when he discovered the consequences of acting impulsively, and his casual assuredness was ripped from him when his daughter was born.

Or, yeah, maybe he was always shy and awkward as you presumed, he just didn’t care about people’s opinions when he wasn’t invested in starting a future with them. Which was fine by him, you could call him dorky if you wanted, because here he was in the midst of a boyish rush of adrenaline when the lack of stressful music coming from the TV became ominous, and the excitement of his plan working vibrated in his chest.

“Oh! And you’re—” Whatever adjective you were about to use was bitten short.

Paying more attention to him than the movie, you missed the build up of the masked killer’s reflection in a mirror, and were caught off guard by the boy’s sudden blood curdling scream trilling above the heart-racing violin screeches. It wasn’t even a good jumpscare—totally predictable—but you still jolted from it.

Eddie lurched into a devious smirk. “Movie getcha, pretty girl?”

It was your turn to be defensive. You pouted, “No. It just surprised me, is all.”

“Aw, come on,” he implored in a gravelly urge. Under the thinning comforter, between the mountains of compacted cotton from overwashing it, there was movement, and the unmistakable contact of the back of his hand on your nylon tights. He bumped you once. “Here, if it’s that scary, you can hold my hand, okay?”

As snarky as his teeth glinted, as teasing as his words were, both of your chests rose with a mutual suspended breath.

This was the line. The barrier. The emotional boundaries were dust, only the physical ones remained. He invited you over them as gingerly as a grown adult man could when on his first true date in years, and the fresh fear of making a move on his crush spiked his rejective-sensitive nerves.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you exhaled. Holding his gaze with the same fondness which existed in your heart, you found the edge of his hand after some sightless venturing. At the graze of skin on skin, you dropped your head to the side, and appealed to him, “It’s so scary.” Across the room, the TV played a calm, serene daytime scene with birds chirping in the background. “So terribly scary,” you repeated, facetiously pitiful. “There’s no way I’ll get through to the end all on my lonesome.”

But rather than hold hands perfectly between the both of you like the pious churchgoing teenagers you’d felt yourselves become, you went in for the kill.

Drawing back, you wedged your fingers between his arm and his ribs, and after a beat, he understood and lifted his elbow. You snaked your hand along his forearm, and down to his awaiting palm. His jeans were rough; his palm was too, torn asunder by his trade to ensure a roof over his and his family’s head, but the spaces between were softer. Love gentled the joints digging into your bones. Your fingers had to stretch to accommodate him, and the wintery dryness pulled at your unlotioned knuckles, but the twinge was forgotten when you focused on your hand in his hand. Your hand in his hand. Your hand in his hand.

You dragged your attention away from the entanglement of your selves finding a missing half under the blanket, and searched his face. His eyes flicked from the same knot stirring under the comforter, and the wrinkles in his expression flourished. He thinned his lips into a tight smile. His cheeks were never that full, but there was a roundness there you’d give anything to discover by touch. You’d been closer to him before, like in the kitchen when you counted his freckles after your painfully geeky dagger innuendo, but if you leaned in any further, your vision would blur.

An obvious awkwardness dwelled in the intimacy of your entwined arms, and tensed bodies.

“So, so scary,” you promised during the exposition dialogue taking place on a sunny morning between the characters eating cornflakes at a large dining table. “I’ll probably have to cling onto you the entire time with my eyes shut.”

His voice cracked high pitched, “Yeah?” Feathery soft, on the verge of disappearing altogether. “Guess I’ll have to be the brave one, then.”

“So very brave,” you said, sweet as sugar.

He snorted whereas you giggled, converging with heads together, and a laugh shared, hands held so very bravely. A breakthrough. One second at a time, you melded into his shadows, as you belonged. You angled yourself toward him and tucked your legs onto the couch, freely huddling your knees against his thigh. Your joined hands were nudged onto his leg more, and the clasp became sticky from perspiration. That was okay. There was a thrill in being the reason each other sweated. He curled in his fingers harder, nesting them between the peaks of your knuckles, and you returned the honor by hooking your fingers between his, lightly squeezing him back. One second at a time, he sought your sunshine, as he belonged. He made sure the pressure of his arm and elbow boxing yours in against his side wasn’t painful, slouching a bit so the top of his leather belt wasn’t digging into your forearm. He was thoughtful that way. Concerned for you and your comfort. Didn’t matter if his lower back would be killing him by the end of the first movie, you were wrapping your free hand around his bicep and rubbing your thumb under the short sleeve of his shirt, back and forth. Back and forth. Then, you were resting the side of your head on his shoulder.

He heard you—felt you—inhale deep. Why? Was it to fill your lungs with the scent of his deodorant, the cheap cologne he spritzed at his chest, the drip of Old Spice aftershave on his shirt collar? Was any of that better than oxygen?

Curious, he tilted his head as if something in the movie had him stumped, and he put his nose to the top of your hair, and took a small breath.

A different shampoo than usual hit him first, but below that, clinging to your clothes, was the smell of Robin’s home. He was struck with the thought of what his home smelled like. Was it good? Bad? Could, over time, over months, over difficult questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask, could maybe by the end of summer your two homes combine to make one unique scent?

That would be the dream. And a dream, it may remain. But what a lovely reality it would be; you staying, and your scents mixing to create a new one.

So lost in his thoughts, he didn’t predict the fake-out jumpscare of a murder of crows taking flight after an eerie bout of silence, and he was the one to flinch.

“Aw, movie too scary for ya, big guy?” you cooed.

Eddie sealed his lips in a frown, and tucked his chin to create the maximum amount of wrinkles when he looked down at you. “Maybe a little. Good thing I have you here with me, though. Right?”

You nodded most ardently, squishing your cheek over his scorpion tattoo—just another place on his body you made your home—and grinned up at him.

“Of course, babe.” You called him babe. He smiled so fucking hard. “I’m here if you ever need me to hold your hand.”

You squeezed.

He squeezed back.

Scenes went by on the tiny TV across the room beyond the condensation pebbling on the plastic cups threatening to fall on the coffee table where Adrie’s box of crayons spilt into her coloring book. A story unfolded in the flash of blade, a clatter of piano keys, and a quiet neighborhood who knew no better. The movie played, but neither of you paid attention.

Your gaze was keen to the way his lips stayed parted after he licked them. His gaze was invested in your expression, how you viewed him with such kindness he was seldom shown. A tenderness he was rarely given. He tried to show you the same sincerity, but your eyes were fixated on his mouth.

Self-conscious, he asked, “Is there something on my—?” He rubbed the back of his wrist over lips.

You answered him with a belittling pat on his chest. “No, big guy. You’re good.”

Your tone didn’t sound ‘good,’ but you pulled the blanket up to your chin, and laid your head on his shoulder again, wrapping your other hand around his bicep until your fingers were stuffed between his arm and side. He interpreted your change in mood as a signal the conversation was over, and put his eyes on the movie. Though, his brain was busy toiling over why you were staring at him, and wondering if the pats on his chest were still echoing beneath your ear, or if it was simply his heart threatening to strangle him from the angst of not understanding if he did something wrong already.

At least he was holding your hand like a real boyfriend would. That had to count for something.. Right?

~~~

The credits rolled, and neither of you moved until you pointed out a name scrolling by, and a laugh so akin to a man being punched in the gut wheezed out of him, it caused you to erupt into your own embarrassing goose honk laugh, causing you to both double over in a fit.

Somehow, his nose was nuzzled to your hair. His inhale was cool on your scalp, and his words were a humid huff. “Bart Horsedick,” he said, “Whatta name.”

“You should name a character after him in DND.”

“Mm! You know what? I will. He’ll be a local legend with all the ladies, and tries to charm his way into the party by constantly making passes at the girls. Erica will kill him for sure.”

With a groan and a wince, he sat up straighter, and you lifted your head off his shoulder, making similar complaints about your neck. It was tough work being brave during the scary parts for each other, regardless if neither of you were paying enough attention to care about the reveals.

He asked, “How’d you like the movie? Even that last scene kinda got me.”

“Yeah, it was good,” you answered in the same tone, searching for anything to say that wasn’t, If you don’t kiss I’m going to fucking scream. “I wasn’t expecting the second killer to be the news reporter. That was kinda cool. And that final death was super gory, with the guts ‘nd all, but uh, I’m starving, and ready for something campy.”

Heeding his lady’s request, Eddie dashed around the room, turning on a few of the eclectic lamps, and jabbed the backwards arrow button on the VCR until the movie was playing in reverse at a hilarious speed. “Be kind, rewind, y’know.” Once it clicked, he took the tape out, and put the next one in.

You followed him into the kitchen where the groceries were laid out on the counter. Some were things he already had, like the half-empty bottle of olive oil, and two government supplied cans of vegetable stock, but from the fridge he added an unopened tub of butter, a container of mushrooms, and a wedge of parmesan cheese. He put them beside the onion, fresh sprigs of parsley, and special bag of rice. Ingredients he bought specifically for a meal he didn’t know how to make, but knew it was impressive, and wanted to try cooking it for you.

You picked up the magazine clipping and raised your eyebrows at the recipe.

He fidgeted, spinning his rings. His voice was hesitant; falling back on self-deprecating humor as a crutch, “I know you’ve probably been to France, or, uhh, Italy or whatever,” he guessed, “and’ve learned from experts on how to make it perfectly, but I thought maybe I’d give it an attempt and hope it turns out edible. Just forgive my shit knife skills, and if I pour too much broth, or don’t stir it the exact number of rotations, or some pretentious bullshit like that,” he finished, gaze solidly on the floor, toeing at a scuff on the vinyl to occupy himself. “‘M not exactly a chef outside a can of Boyardee, so..”

Some of his mumbling was lost on you as you read the bottom of the page. Narrowing your eyes at the title printed beside a number in the corner, you put your fist on your hip. “Edward Munson.” He snapped out his worrying at the use of his full name. “Did you rip this out of one of my lobby magazines at work?”

He rolled his lips inward to curb his grin. “No, no, of course not, dear,” he promised, finding it the most opportune moment to turn away, and organize the ingredients in no practical order.

“I swear if I go to work Monday and find Better Homes and Gardens missing page 57—”

“Okay, okay—I’ll tape it back in, but give me some credit, will ya? I didn’t rip it out like some animal.. I cut it out neatly with scissors.” He eyed your harmless smirk, and plucked the mushroom risotto recipe from between your fingers. “Now, if you’d like to get out of my hair, you may,” he said, gesturing at the TV with a knife. “Skedaddle. Go watch the movie.”

“You don’t want me to help? Or at least to keep you company?”

It wasn’t often he was tripped up on what to say, so when his mouth hinged on a mute excuse to get you to leave, you registered what he was going on about earlier, and shook your head.

“Wait, Eddie, I worked in kitchens prepping vegetables when the cooks were too drunk to come in on time because they went home with some random woman from a bar, and were too hungover to know what day it was. That’s why I’m like, okay-ish with a knife. You don’t really think I’d judge you for how you chop an onion, do you?”

A few words were stammered. You shushed him from bothering.

If his confidence had trouble surfacing when everything was out in the open and not hidden under a blanket, then you’d give him another nudge; a single stroke of your knuckle along the monster tattooed on his tricep. The muscle reacted to you, flexing the wyvern’s clawed feet. You did it again. And again. Pinching his sleeve and tugging at it, doing all the cutesy, flirty things you’d learned over the years, including dropping your gaze to his pretty pink lips. Employing your best strategies, you laid it on thick; swaying your hips, and bringing in your arms to frame your chest. “You could heat me up a can of Chef Boyardee, and it’d be the best meal I’ve ever had, as long as I got to share it with you.”

Shy, shy, shy. He brought his shoulder up and ducked his face from your view, giggling at your heavy adulation. “You don’t have to flatter me like that,” he mumbled, sounding not unlike he was wrapped in a ball of lovesick yarn. Overly smitten, ooey gooey with the warm fuzzies in his chest. So very, very adorable, sneaking a glance at you with an unbelieve amount of precious crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

How sweet.

It’d be sweeter if he could take the hint and share those kinds of things with you, but you could be patient and wait until he was ready. Again..

Just.. keep making everything so obvious for him, and try to ignore the sting of rejection when the guy you’ve liked for months finally invites you over for a date, and still won’t kiss you.

At least you were saved from the worst of your downward spiral by the bad B movie and its body melting scene.

“Ooh!” Eddie pushed the cutting board away. “That effect was really cool!”

Since he was already making his way to the TV, you trailed at his heels, and crouched beside him, sinking to your knees while he pressed the rewind button, and clicked Stop/Play twice. The lead up to the moment played again. You sat in anticipation, wholly aware you’d just watched this interaction between the college girls putting their best effort into delivering their lines, only for them to fall flat when their acting was off the charts horrendous. Eddie regarded them with the same sort of awkwardness, rotating his hand in hurried circles until one of them got obliterated into a goopy pile of human remains, and you began to dissect the undulating puddle of sludge.

“How do you think they made that one?” he whispered, mesmerized. “The way it pulses like that?”

“I think it’s from a balloon inflating beneath it. Watch the way the flesh cracks, and the blood oozes out. I think it’s something like that pushing it up from under.”

He hummed, and rewound the tape a few seconds. “Yeah, yeah, I see what you mean,” he said, tapping his finger on the thick curved glass. “And look at that bone. It actually looks like a charred, brittle skeleton instead of those cheap femurs everyone gets at the party store for Halloween.” You also agreed with him in a hum. The extra touches of effort were impressive for a low budget film like this.

The movie continued inches from your eyes. You rested on your calves, flattening the plush carpet under your shins. The harsh fibers were dulled by your pantyhose, and if this was a spot Eddie had to scrub clean after Adrie spilled juice, you weren’t aware of the stain; you were only aware of the hair-raising sensation of being watched.

You directed your attention to Eddie’s pointed stare on the side of your face, about to ask if there was a reason behind his adamant inspection when—

He dropped his gaze to your lips.

Sparks ignited behind your ribcage. Hopefulness latched onto each long second wherein he resisted flicking his eyes back to the screen. Each passing breath a choice to follow the gentle curve of your mouth, and stay there to revel in the simple pleasure of studying the unspoken language evolving between you two, sinking into his own warm grin for you to decipher. He was still crouching on the balls of his feet, and you had to wonder if he leaned over to kiss you now, would he lose his balance and cause you both to fall to the floor? Would he catch the back of your head in his palm to soften the crash? Would his hips fit perfectly between your legs? Would his jeans drag along your inner thighs? Would he whimper when you held him? Would he grind down on you at the first sign of reciprocation? Would he already be hard?

Your thigh muscles ached at the racing thoughts, clenched so tight in response to the needy throb between them.

Was the unspoken language shouting now?

Eddie’s throat bobbed on a stuttered exhale; his chest shook at fractions of his inhale, as if he was experiencing the same tightness there from the rosy desire blooming so greatly, struggling to cope with the oxygen in his lungs when there were far sweeter things they’d rather be filled with. “I—” He stopped. “I read a review on the back of the box that said this movie was scary too,” he informed you in whisper, right when a godawful green alien appeared and shot the worst CGI laser you’d ever seen from your peripheral vision. “Better hang out with me in the kitchen, where we can keep each other safe.”

You urged your yearning away from his mouth to the neon colors of a spaceship glancing off his cheeks, to his large nose, to the tips of his bangs skimming his eyebrows, to the bags under his eyes, and finally, you caught the last moments of him roaming your features with utmost care before your gazes locked.

The floor beneath him creaked.

Briefly, you considered closing your eyes.

The carpet flattened in a muffled rustle.

Briefly, you considered uttering his name.

The dry air in the room vanished with his humid huff coasting over your forehead.

Briefly, you considered begging him when he pushed off his knees, stumbled slightly towards you, and stood, offering you a helping hand.

He said, “Gotta make this dinner for you before I starve, sweetness.”

Kissless, you fought against your inner bitterness, and accepted his fingers. To hide your wilting resilience, you put a swing of vigor in your voice, and happiness on your face. “Yeah, watching hot blondes perish into goo really makes one hunger for sloppy rice with mushrooms.”

Well, at least you could always make him laugh.

~~~

Onion skin crunched under Eddie’s heavy chop. The papery layer was discarded. Laying the halves on the textured cutting board, he dragged the knife in long slices out from the root, then rotated to dice it into cubes. He blinked away fresh tears, and beside him, you scraped the sweated mushrooms into a bowl, and placed the pan back on the burner for him to sweep his prepped vegetables into. They sizzled on impact. You stirred the mixture with a wooden spoon, and made sure nothing seared to the bottom.

Steam rose from the bowl of cooked mushrooms. Slippery oil slicked their surface, adding to the smells of onion and garlic. Condensation fogged the tiny window above the sink. The rice began to toast. A burnt popcorny, yet pleasantly floral fragrance mixed with the sour note of cheap white wine bubbling down to nothing, and salty splashes of broth.

Mostly, the continuous stirring was done passively because you were both watching the movie from across the room. When it was your turn at the stove, you grasped the skillet handle and moved the spoon around in some sort of pattern, but your upper body was twisted towards the TV. When it was his turn, you took his place at the wrap around counter, bending over to rest your forearms on it, savoring his body heat baked into the surface under your palms before it faded and was replaced by your own.

The last VHS was inserted. No commercials on this older tape.

You grated the last of the cheese into the rice, and tipped in the mushrooms. Behind you, there were two metallic latch sounds followed by two loud bangs. Eddie sucked in a hiss, and apologized. You were too busy portioning out the risotto to see what in the world he was doing, but the sharp clicks of his lighter were distinct, as was the notch turns of the unnecessary lamps being turned off, casting you in dimmed ambiance.

Garnishing the meal with parsley, you scooped up the bowls and turned.

“Ta-da,” he said meekly, opening up his arms with weak pizazz.

You were stunned at the effort.

The collapsable ends of the green table hung by their hinges, making the surface area impossibly intimate. On top, there were three lit candlesticks to set the mood, and underneath, the seats of the chairs almost touched. The whole thing was incredibly sweet. Thoughtful. Endearing. He had trouble meeting your eye.

Eddie glanced at the unscented candles burning bright for practicality’s sake. The first wet drip of wax joined the others melted down the side since the last time he used them when the power went out. Not exactly romantic. “Has, uhm, anyone made you risotto before?” he asked, and tacked on, “At home?” when the fear of not being the first smacked the words out of him.

“No,” you stated. “No one's ever done something so sweet for me.”

His lower lip twitched, and he ran his tongue over his teeth to quell the giddiness from exploding. And to stop himself from celebrating too soon.

As you carried the bowls towards his attempt to recreate a fine dining experience, he tried to push aside the thoughts of inadequacy—the candles, the fact he couldn’t take you to a real restaurant, the flowers he decided against because he no longer had a vase, the nagging voices in his head that told him this whole idea was stupid—and instead, he focused on anything else. Anything, anything else.

“Here, lemme help you, sweet—Ow, ow, ow, ow—Jesus, do you have hands of steel or somethin’?” The candles wobbled when he dropped the bowl on the table, and you both froze as they teetered back and forth, praying your second date didn’t go up in literal flames.

When they came to a rest, you both sighed.

“Hands of steel, huh?” you mused. “I think they feel kinda soft compared to yours.”

Quickfire, he picked up on the age-old flirt you used on him months ago (back when he was dumb, and genuinely thought he was the one flirting with you by suggesting you come back to him when you found a spider as big as his palm), and he concurred, “Maybe we need to compare them again. Y’know, really get in there and make sure I have the toughest hands in the Midwest.” Adopting a southern drawl, he stuffed his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, and puffed out his chest. “Can’t let a lil’ lady who answers phones with ‘Yellow?’ have stronger hands than me, now can we?”

You pinged him with a wry expression twinged with cringe, and sat down, scooting your chair in, and looking up at him still standing. “You are so pitifully dorky.”

“I sure am, sweetheart,” he said proudly, falling into the chair across from you.

Your knees collided under the table; bone on bone due to his inability to wear jeans without holes in them. They knocked painfully, and while he did remember to apologize when you winced, he was distracted by the silly notion that his bare knees were the second body part to make contact with your tights. The back of his hand during the movie didn’t lend much to his senses, now he had a better feel of the texture, and how it rubbed against his skin. A strangely marvelous thing. And he was getting ahead of himself, sure, but he wondered how your tights must feel under the same rugged palm he was offering to you upturned on the table while below, his thoughts were erring away from respectful visions of circling his thumb over your knee cap while you were stretched across the couch with your legs in his lap, to something he felt unworthy to ask for.

Oh, but how he ached to be the one who was trusted to keep you warm when you were undressed..

Your chair squeaked. You changed the position to where your legs were bracketed by his wide spread. Perfect, because he brought in his stance and crossed his ankles behind yours, locking your thighs and calves between his, as if you were his possession, unable to escape. Indulging him, you giggled, and squirmed to the edge of your seat, taking his hand. His right, your left. A polite union of criss-crossed fingers. Mountainous calluses mapped against rolling hills of satin. Flickering candlelight dancing off the silver band of his ring. Kind, and sweet.

He gripped his spoon in an unnatural way, dragging it through the risotto, and bumping the ceramic.

“I can hold your other hand,” you offered, motioning at where you could link his non-dominant hand in the space between your bowls.

His voice was made of mushy tenderness, but his clipped tone left no room for argument, “Nah, I like it this way.” If you didn’t understand why yet, you did when you traced his gaze to his wrist. The beads had shifted from where they dug into his flesh. Squares from the blocky letters left indents in his skin, as did the corners of star beads interspersed throughout the round ones. Opposite D-A-D-D-Y, your sleeve was bunched up from cooking, baring the precious nickname M-O-U-S-E.

Your eyelids fell half-closed. The fondness on your lips wasn’t a result of the risotto—as delicious as the first bite was—no, the sentiment was much too darling. Almost as if you could hear the dormant vocabulary you awoke running hot in his veins. My girl, my girl, my girl is wearing the matching bracelet my daughter made for us, and I’ve never wanted anything more than another excuse to call you my girl out loud; I want it so bad I could cry.

“You did such a good job on this,” you complimented the risotto after taking another bite.

Fate. “It only tastes good because I had my girl’s help.” Under no circumstance was he about to make eye contact after saying that. In fact, he avoided sound altogether when he angled his spoon so he wouldn’t scrape it along his teeth a second time, and blew on the porridge-like rice before sliding the richness over his tongue, alighting his mouth with mellowed complexities for such unassuming ingredients. As he ate, he listened to you eat too. As he glanced, you glanced too. As he embellished his grin with a secret, you snuck in one of your own through the mysterious sharpness in your eyes boring into his too. He didn’t question it, didn’t breathe, didn’t make a sound above the panicked yelling happening in the movie in the other room; for now, he was content with holding your hand and calling you his girl.

The pressure to continue conversation waned.

He squeezed.

You squeezed back.

~~~

Dinner was finished in cherished bites. The movie was in the process of concluding, as most of the cast had been killed off by the time Eddie uncrossed his ankles and released you. He blew out the candles and stood, already regretting the act when the imprint of your body faded from his between his legs.

While he filled the sink with soapy water, you put away the forgotten ingredients, and wiped up the counter with a wet rag in absentminded circles, thoroughly invested in the slasher’s “forest chase scene” probably filmed in someone’s mom’s backyard.

Once the frothy bubbles sloshed to the rim with each dish put in, and the clammy air was brightened by the scent of blue Dawn liquid soap, Eddie rolled the stretchy bracelet up his forearm and began dunking the glass cup used for measuring the broth. He ran his hand around the inside to rid it of the gritty residue left behind. Dipping the thin washcloth, he submerged his hands up to his wrists in skin prickling hot water, and brought the cup out, exposing his chafed knuckles to the sting of cold air. He washed it, rinsed it under even colder water, and handed it off to you. You toweled it dry, and put it in the cupboard next to the fridge.

Over and over, he washed, you dried. He washed, you dried.

Routine, monotonous, robotic and quiet.

Outer input died away. No more movie, no more hot water, no more spoken conversation, no more meaningful glances, nor more intimate nicknames, no more inappropriate touches stolen under the guise of a drunken night. Just his thoughts, insecurities, anxieties, and hopes and the instant foreboding stress wrenching his stomach with fear of those hopes never coming true.

The air was thick with awareness.

You were in his home. The date was coming to an end, and so was his bravery. This was his chance, and he was letting it slip by him. Again.

He’d run out of excuses. Or rather, he reasoned with the excuses, and now he was facing the real problem. All the stuff from months ago about him not knowing if you liked him, your flighty lifestyle, the dynamic of being coworkers and worrying if it’d make things weird, the conversation he never had with Adrie; forgoing divulging his hobbies, his music, or his past with you because he didn’t see the point; those things he conquered. Those things no longer bothered him. Those things had answers putting them to rest.

Now, there was nothing keeping him from pursuing you except his own inhibitions..

Sad, how even when he had the courage to get this far with you, the differences in your lives served as a reminder he was just a poor boy from Indiana whose greatest aspiration was owning a trailer of his own so his uncle could have his room back. You had a drama degree—hell, you went to college in the first place. You had real dreams, and achieved semblances of those dreams before coming to Hawkins. A star as bright as you shouldn’t have to peter out in a town in the middle of nowhere. You needed the city to thrive, to perform on stage again. It was your calling, wasn’t it? Munson wasn’t calling you like your previous life, was it? You spoke of your accomplishments so highly. Would you ever learn to speak of him that way? Would he, one day, become one of your stories? A memory you moved on from?

Or did he deserve to ask you to give up everything you loved and earned to settle down in a dead-end shithole that hated him, and help him raise a child that wasn’t yours, tying yourself to his reputation forever?

What if he asked those things of you? Would you say ‘yes’?

Shit.

While the sea of doubt churned in his head, he rinsed off the ceramic bowl you used to eat from, and blinked the sting from his eyes after staring off into space for too long. He waited to hand it to you until you had put a pan away in the lower cabinet under the wrap-around counter, and accepted the bowl, drying it off and ping-ponging to the other side of the kitchen to the upper cabinet above the toaster. You didn’t have to guess. You knew exactly where it went. You were familiar with the precise drawer the spatula went in, next to the cutlery one where you tossed in the spoons. There was a beautiful domesticity to it all; washing dishes with you as if it were a nightly occurrence. Like you lived here. Together. You, him, Adrie, and his uncle—preferably not in that arrangement, and not in this trailer, but the vision.. the vision was there. You and him rejecting the bullshit small town mentality, and creating a life in Hawkins you could both be proud of, free from strife. A do-over, in a way, with you at his side, and his daughter on your hip.

The pit of self-loathing in his stomach yawned.

Those idyllic fantasies were too much to ask for. Too much to even risk speaking out loud. He could feel the rejection welling up behind his eyes as it were, wobbling at his bottom lip. The crushing reality of being a lonely single dad with nothing to offer—

You slammed the cabinet door shut, and tossed the towel aside. “So, are we gonna pick up where that phone call left off, or not?”

Eddie stilled under your loaded stare.

You remembered you remembered you remembered—

“If you adore me so much..” you added.

Jolted into action, the last dish slipped from his fingers, splashing and bouncing sluggishly off the bottom of the sink. Adrenaline hit him in droves. Frantic stings of want pushed him forward. Chores were forgotten. Mind blank. The soft thuds of his stride thundered off the thin walls. Pace quickened. Pulse beating in his throat. Vice grip on his heart. Months, weeks, days, hours of keeping his starvation alive through longing looks and inside jokes and hands brushing hands in fragile innocence, denying the vital comfort he craved to experience with the one person who made him feel special; the yearning reached its peak.

Predatory hunger rushed color to his cheeks at the remarkable sight of his dearest dream going slack with surprise.

He secured his fate with his arm wrapped around your waist, sweeping his hand upwards and dragging your cardigan with it. Water dripped to his elbows, cooling the wicked fever igniting his skin. He poured his strength into bringing you into him at the same time he stepped into you, forcing you back, back, back until the distance keeping you apart was eliminated, caging you where you gave him his final nudge beyond the brink of composure. His hips coaxed you side to side. His legs boxed you in where he commanded. Each motion pressed his strong, needy body to yours, driving the edge of the countertop into your lower back. Sway by sway, a dance of insurmountable patience built over months met its breaking point. You went pliant for him. No fight, only a small noise when he engulfed you in his aggressive embrace.

You gathered the hem of his shirt in your weak fists. His sudden leap over the platonic line broke goosebumps across your exposed midriff, tightening your nipples against the delicate lavender lace. The tremble in your knees was juxtaposed by his steady hand tilting your face up to his.

Sudsy bubbles burst on the peach fuzz beneath your ear from where he cupped your jaw. Droplets trickled to the base of your neck, curving over your breasts, and beading on the surface of your cardigan. He swept his fingers in an untamed stroke over your cheek. He tested a deeper angle, fitting his broad grasp to your chin and compelling you to lean in with the heel of his palm guiding you, drawing you forward, supporting the pout of your bottom lip with the base of his thumb.

His nose whistled when he took a shallow breath. The wet, soapy trails left in his hand’s wake went cold against his sigh coasting over your skin. Again, he tried another breath. Deeper; initiating the unadulterated intimacy of his stomach filling out and pushing against yours. More. The great expanse of his shoulders squared with confidence, and his muscles braced under your tender exploration. Your weak grip left his waist to climb up the confines of his arms, passing over his ribs and the flat plane of his pecs to place the lightest touch at the base of his neck. Closer. The serious glint in his eyes blurred as he neared.

The tip of his nose butted the apple of your cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” he spoke aloud for the first time, words breaking on the whisper.

You answered him in a faint, insatiable, “Yes.”

He imposed himself more. Frame on frame. Unyielding body leaned and curved around your softness, channeling every repressed feeling he’d had since you met into pinning you against the counter. Gradually, he dropped his head into a better angle; grinding forehead on forehead, tracing his perfect nose along yours, tilting so his mouth hovered fractions above a decision.

He teased, “Are you only saying that because it’s your policy?”

You smiled against the edge of his thumb after spying his sly grin through your heavy lashes. “No,” you stressed the single word, speaking through the mild irk of impatience building like an itch that could not be scratched in the marrow of your bones.

Anticipation clung to the prolonged gossamer blinks before they lulled into closed eyes, and slow swallows of air until lungs were poised on a held breath.

Every syllable of his next question dragged his lower lip across yours. “Are you my girl?”

“Eddie—”

The whine. The beg. The genuine plea of his name.

Organically imperfect, he smashed his mouth to yours. It was a harsh collision of teeth to lips, and a startled grunt at the abrupt impact, but neither of you cared. Reservations were off. You clung desperately to his shirt, stretching the cotton around his neck and biting the ball chain necklace into his throat, striving for a needier kiss; sparking a heady rush of awareness to the oversensitive areas reacting to the animalistic push and pull of him gaining control, advocating for his own fight in the flex of his thighs driving you into the creaky doors of the cabinetry. The fervency spurred him on. You combed your fingers through the downy curls at his nape, and he did not hesitate slipping a hand under your sweater to smooth his palm to your bare waist. And fuck, how you arched your back on instinct.

Nasally grunts of pain descended to pleasant hums from the throat.

Unable to divide his attention, the kisses went sloppier. Rushed. Awkward, and clumsy. He slotted his mouth to yours with too much force, to the point of bruising your spit slicked lips, and the wet smack pulled a submissive whimper from the places he’d yet to take. The flush blotching his throat ran hot like flames, heating the Old Spice aftershave on his skin. The scent aided the dizzy lurch in your head, lost to the dull lamplight beyond your eyelids, rocking you onto your toes and falling back on your heels in the swirling give-and-take of his unstated needs reaching levels of crisis only you could solve. A pain you could cure as you crammed your nose to his cheek, spread your fingers firmly against his skull, and kissed your friend harder than he kissed you.

Hums lowered into a depraved moan.

The intensity of your reciprocation fueled his ego. Seeking, he moved his chivalrous hand from cupping your face, downwards. Grabbing, seizing, squeezing. After refraining from so much for so long, he was mesmerized by the curve of your shoulder, the sway of your lower back, the waistband of your scratchy polyester skirt. He roved until he found your ribs, and he molded his fingerprints there, branding you with the sensation of his thumb beneath your underwire bra. It was a messy exploration. His excitement had him bearing his weight down on you, and when your strained feet failed to steady him, your ankle gave. Knees bumped; he stepped on your toes. He fell into you and matched the pain of the counter prodding your tender flesh with the bulk of his leather belt scraping your stomach. No apology. Not with words. It was the safety and protection of his arm crooked between you and the laminate countertop which rescued you, and as a reward, he dropped his forearm from the cusp of your hips and feasted his thick fingers on a handful of your ass, rocking you into him.

There was no other way to react to the blunt suggestion.

Heavy, uneven breaths were panted across the other’s sore lips as you both withdrew to gauge the next step. He scoped your features with urgency, darting from your relaxed brows, to your keen gaze. There was an etching of insecurity marring the honey in his gentle brown eyes when you were too dazed to remember to smile, jumping to conclusions in his worrisome ways.

He really did worry too much.

Bringing your hand out of his curls, you grazed the strained tendon on the side of his neck, and worked your way up. You trailed your knuckles along his cheek, swept them under his wispy bangs, and put your fingertips to his temple, triggering a shivered sigh and fluttering lashes at the new touch.

You answered him as you combed his hair away from his face, “I’m your girl.”

The instant sincerity of his red, swollen lips kicking up into an uneven grin invoked a raw tenderness to his pink nose scrunching in playfulness, and the corner of his eyes going tight with happiness.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice hoarse from the exertion of kissing you senseless.

“Yeah,” you promised in another caress.

For a moment, he held your gaze with the importance of someone understanding what it meant to be by his side and to be seen with him out in Hawkins public; as if he were on the verge of crying from the sheer gratitude of your policy landing you here, in his arms, on this night, wanting to be his.

Eddie peered into your eyes again. His wide pupils and dusky cheeks spoke of the nature of his body, but behind that, lurking beneath his fibrous sinew was the same innate marrow telling him this was okay. This was right. Just let go.

Just let go.

He listened.

As wild as he took you minutes before, he was ready to luxuriate in the nuances of affection. He pressed his mouth closed in a dry swallow, and raised his hand from your ribs, beckoning your cheek into the stifling heat of his palm. The throbbing pulse in his neck beat a rhythm to his chest, rising and falling in a quick cadence until he was able to discipline his attention away from the obvious snag of his zipper on your skirt.

He relaxed into another kiss. It may have been the hundredth of the night, but it was pivotal. Something changed. The frantic clashing lessened, and the cravings heightened.

Consistent as he was in taking things slow, he knew how to make you feel cherished. He took your bottom lip between his and dragged it as he broke the chain from one kiss to the other, as if the extra second he claimed a part of you was crucial to his survival. Truly indulging in the full potential of someone witnessing the many bad days of his life and still wanting to cook dinner with him. Someone enjoying the harmonized hum of your lips converging while you scratched small circles on his scalp above his ears. Someone willing to hear his shameful complaints about fatherhood, and not judge him when he took his lunch break in his car, cranking the seat back to rest his blood-shot sleepless eyes, instead of sharing a coke with them in the breakroom. Someone he’d come to rely on; a constant in his life.

He poured his coffee pot’s worth of trust into you, and you answered him with the blissful endeavor of your fingers scaling his forearm, brushing through the thin hair growing like wheat and pushing the beaded bracelet up to his wrist, cupping your hand over his on your cheek. D-A-D-D-Y. M-O-U-S-E. In turn, you drank his insecurities and added your own, overflowing with the mutual truth that neither of you had been in a stable relationship lasting longer than a month, and this whole thing should’ve been very scary.

But it wasn’t scary.

It was slow and steady.

The heaviness of his body returned. Hands wandered aimlessly. Arms entwined, untangled, confused themselves on who was where. Attentive fingertips glided over woven yarn and cotton, following the dips and curves and slopes; basking in the reverence of married threads and validation. Legs shuffled, spreading and accommodating. Jaws went slack. Languid tongues merged, lazy and hot. He palmed your ass in a lax grip, easing your hips flush against his. You answered with a purposeful roll intending to earn some friction, but you couldn’t reap the benefits on account of one problem..

Your skirt was stretched to the fabric’s maximum allowance, creating a taut buffer keeping him at bay. Any motion was nullified by the hindrance. Noticing this, he shifted to be better cradled by your thighs, and a delicious gift was granted with the tandem action of your bodies joining.

He flattened his hands on the countertop behind you and blessed you with a proper long drawl of his hips; pausing in an open mouthed kiss because the noise you made—the noise you made—the noise the noise the noise you made—

Your quick inhale faltered, flattering the hard press of his cock with a shameless gasp.

Eddie halted at the top of the motion from your involuntary praise, and locked eyes with you. Just like when he made you laugh, he wanted to witness your pleasure, soak in your reverent stare and pride himself on the way you asked for more—by sinking back and away and rutting upwards, instigating a filthy tension on the layers separating you; panties, nylon, polyester skirt, seams on seams on seams of harsh denim, and his choice of boxers; and God, you thrived on the bulk behind his zipper caressing you for the first time where climaxes were born. Your moan hinged on his satisfaction, and in a dare, you pivoted the descent of your roll towards the right, capturing between you his stiff length tenting towards his pocket. And when you arched into a slow grind on the base—sliding him along the curve of your clothed heat—he released his own pretty noise.

“Mm—fuck,” he groaned into your mouth.

Gravitating elsewhere, he left messy kisses on your jaw and brushed his nose over the peach fuzz on your cheek to put his love-bitten lips to your ear. Gravelly with want, he asked, “When did you remember what happened that night?”

A dirty throb pulsed where he buried himself between your legs, striving for the angle which had you grasping at his narrow hips as a silent plea for him to drive into you harder.

“Oh,” you panted into his hair sticking to your mouth. Answering casually as you could despite your face running hot, and your voice straining light with a joke, you answered, “I never forgot. I lied when you asked me.”

“You—?” The word was a quick huff of air against your neck. He pulled away enough to look at you, but not divorce your stomachs from touching. Two deep creases formed between his brows, shadowing his squint with incredulity. “You lied to me?”

A pang of doubt weeded its way into your insecure hands around his waist, forcing you to question if he was really mad at you for pretending you didn’t remember the exact details of last weekend in order to bolster his confidence into asking you on a date instead of wallowing in silent guilt for thinking he did something wrong and end up pushing you away, sabotaging himself from ever acting on this.

You were about to speak your mind—that is, until his lips crooked up, and he invaded your space with his big eyes, big nose, and even bigger grin.

“You lied to me,” he said with a snap of wolfishness, tonguing his sharp canine after the bite of his words; hosting an overabundance of admiration in his half-lidded gaze raking over you, alighting every sinful nerve in your body.

Time to pick up where that phone call left off—

“Yeah, I did.. But you didn’t.” You sank your hand between your bodies, and flattened your palm to the front of his jeans.

His breath hitched.

Skimming, teasing, playing with him, you strung his lust taut, tracking your fingertips over the hardness and sweeping them to the very end, circling an outline around his head like a Siren’s call to his fiery blood. His biceps flexed against your arms. The laminate counter squeaked from his sweaty grip on the edge. Vinyl flooring creaked at his antsy rut into your hand, and you gave in to your own curiosity.

Wrapping your fingers as best you could through the thick denim, a spike of cold excitement washed over you at the sheer girth you struggled to handle—much less the long, long drag of your palm from base to tip—sending an ache to your cunt begging to be stretched by him.

Slightly over seven inches, indeed.

Lacking poise, you blurted an unintelligible word, and his smirk underscored his heavy kiss.

“Told you I didn’t need to overcompensate,” he taunted.

His newfound smugness was allowed. Encouraged, even, by your firm strokes, again and again, creating a damp patch on his pants at every pass of your thumb. You were fascinated by his ability to engulf you in another tender union of lips when your senses were overwhelmed by the impressive size filling your palm. Intoxicated by the gentle glide of his considerable tongue along your bottom teeth. Dazed by his pitiful groan when you increased your pace, building and building the wicked friction burn from his jeans on your soft skin, tending to the flames of your arousal, sensitive nipples peaked and receptive to the warmth of his lean chest pressing down on you.

Needing him, you closed off the kiss and played into your appeal with a saccharine pinch to your expression, and a cloying sweetness to your tone. “You do so much for your family,” you murmured. “You work so hard to provide for them, always staying late at the garage, covered in grease and dirt, fixing cars until your hands are torn and your back aches. Making sacrifices without a second thought. Always putting their needs first.”

Stroking his hard cock, you asked, “When was the last time someone put your needs first?”

Eddie screwed his eyes shut and fit the bridge of his nose to your forehead. When he spoke, his embarrassment influenced his mumble, “S’been a long, long time.”

“Sounds like you need me to take care of you, handsome.”

He tensed to suppress his shiver from your sultry tone, and withheld his whimper at the prospect, meeting your gaze in a nervous flick. “I don’t, uhm.. have..” His assured demeanor ebbed to stuttering shyness. “I didn’t, uh, buy any condoms, and all the stores are closed by now..”

Your face fell flat.

You threw your exasperated stare to the ceiling, and searched the series of events which would lead to him asking you on a date, at his home, at night, without anyone else present, and somehow not think to buy condoms. “Why didn’t you buy any?”

He shrugged, frustration evident in his tone. “I was afraid of being a dumbass and leaving them out in the open where you could see them—like with the groceries or some shit—and give you the wrong impression, like my goal was only to invite you over for that reason, and, I don’t know, think I’m coming on too strong, or something, and make you uncomfortable.”

You gripped your beloved dumbass by the chin with your unoccupied hand, and put an end to his fretting. “Or, I would get the right impression, and we’d have that box opened within ten minutes of me walking through the door.”

He blinked dumbly.

Before he could ask if you were serious, you steered the conversation to its original topic with a gentle squeeze where the dark spot on his jeans bloomed, and said, “We’ll worry about condoms next time.” He throbbed in your palm. Next time. “After all the romantic stuff you’ve done for me, I want to show you my appreciation.” You slid your fingers through his belt loops, and leaned up, nosing your way through his frizzy waves to whisper a fantasy in his ear. “I want you in my mouth.”

You put the power of suggestion in your aggressive tug, snapping your hips together.

Ripples of electric pleasure stood his arm hair on end. The alertness in his expression glazed over. He lazed in the feeling, hardly able to open his eyes to follow the bounce of your eyebrows and the deep cut of your smirk; matching with his own goofy smile going lopsided with enthusiasm.

Since his birth, there were few instances where he felt wanted, or loved, and for his dream girl to waltz into his life and be so brazen about her attraction to him with no hidden motives, empty sweet-talk, or ill intentions—

For possibly the first time in Eddie’s ostracized existence, he felt desired.

Each low tug on his jeans was another boost to his self esteem, guiding him step by step further beyond the platonic line. Deeper, and deeper into new territory. Crossing the threshold from cracked vinyl to plush carpet, and with it, entering the fear of the unknown he wasted countless hours resisting. There’s no going back after this. Acquaintances was a laughable notion, coworkers was a tricky dynamic left to be dealt with on Monday, and friendship was the foundation of him opening up to you.

Every decision persuading you to the edge of his bed was made in careful consideration. Choices were presented and chosen without impulse. Nothing about him was casual. Not anymore. The slow crawl towards this relationship was impeded by his past, and instead of giving up, you stayed true to him. Because you saw him as worthwhile.

Eddie sank to the couch, and before his back made contact with the cushions, he had his fingers cupped to the backside of your thighs, proposing a bend to your knees. In a fluid motion, he dragged his rough palms up your tights and coaxed your legs on either side of him, running his heavy hands over your skirt and up to your waist. He relaxed into the sitting position with an arm crooked around your ass while he treated himself to a handful, gathering you as close as possible until he was satisfied with the places he could reach. Not once did his eyes leave your face. He tipped his head back to watch you go from standing at the end of his knees, to straddling his lap. Wholly enamored.

Blue cast from the TV’s standby mode contrasted the dim glow from the old lamp on the kitchen counter, highlighting his blushy cheeks in eventide colors, and cleaving a defined shadow down his bobbing throat.

Earned muscle and bulky denim and seven inches of bliss prodded the delicate meat of your inner thighs. You sat high on his lap, releasing the tension in your body in increments, settling yourself on top of him. He kissed you. Short and sweet; a brief encounter compared to before, but with your senses amplified by the deeper connection you two fostered for one another, it was the best kiss of your life. And it served as a chaste prelude to his next devotion.

Taking the lead, Eddie moved on from your lips, working downward in a dreamy, drunken daze, reveling in skin-on-skin. Want—more—please. When he couldn’t access the vulnerable underside of your chin, he urged your head up with a determined bump of his nose to your jaw, and continued to praise you in stray kisses and greedy palms. He showed you what he wanted by dragging you forward in his lap, and you didn’t need to be told twice by his white-knuckled grip.

You grinded down on him, and your mouth went slack with a fragmented moan.

“You’re so pretty when you do that,” he slurred, voice husky and low.

The bulge behind his fly parted your aching cunt. With your legs spread wide, you found your perfect middle and worked the stiff seams against your need. Each rut glided him along you, slipping over the nylon and stretching your pantyhose taut. You beared down harder, obeying the faint throbs of desperation, and turned them into inadequate stirs of pleasure, fleeting at each pass.

The first stitch of nylon broke. Then, another.

His generous kisses went wayward, favoring your jawbone as a means to end, tucking his teeth into the pocket beneath your ear and nipping at your vulnerable pulse. You swallowed under the threat, and dropped your head back, revealing the neglected expanse for him to cherish.

Cascades of euphoria flowed down your neck. Teeth grazed, his tongue tasted, the cold tip of his nose drew sentiments on your throat. For every dull sting of his untamed bite, he apologized with a softer, and softer affection. Lessening in aggression. Soothing your sweltering skin with cooling breaths on the streak of spit he left behind. You shivered despite the sudden break of sweat in the humid entanglement and embraced your urges, squirming against his jeans and circling your hips in measured thrusts, tilting into the motion for your own sake and blanketing your thigh over his achingly hard cock by chance. “Christ, sweetheart.” His muffled moan set your blood on fire. Your fingers went tight on his shoulders, digging into the muscle shifting beneath your nails, wrinkling the fabric of his favorite shirt.

More nylon stitches popped.

Too lost in your own efforts, you hadn’t noticed the loss of his possessive hold on your waist until your hard nipples brushed two solid objects.

Yarn fibers tickled overtop the sheer mesh cups of your bra.

Eddie nuzzled at the base of your neck and rested the slope of his broad nose there, moving his lips on your skin when he remembered, but otherwise his attention deviated elsewhere. At his leisure, he thumbed the top button of your sweater through the loop, and drifted to the next. Another, and another, exposing the sheen of perspiration on your chest to the stagnant air in his living room. His deft fingers undressed you with undue ease. Each loosened button raced your heart, and you repaid him by widening your knees and sinking fully onto his lap, laying your plush inner thigh on top of his length in a satisfying squish, and staying there.

A weak whine tinted his pretty, “Feels—good.”

Feels good played off the thin walls stacked with ceramic mugs. Feels good joined the sporadic pitter patter of raindrops on the tin roof streaming to the grassless earth outside. Feels good warmed you like the oil filled radiator at the end of the couch, popping and crackling when the heat droned higher. Feels good manifested in your cardigan slipping from your shoulders and falling to the floor in a mute drop; rooted itself in his ringed fingers dipping into your waistband; was proven by his other palm molding to the curve of your hip as if it were shaped by the same artist; and confirmed by the unambiguous focus to your right side.

Feels so fucking good burst forth in his hand’s unyielding snatch on your waistband and decisive jerk forward, ripping through the last of the strained seam trapped against your satin underwear.

The pantyhose split at the gusset, and your plump pussy spilled out, perfectly framed by the gaping nylon hole presenting your wet cunt to the thick denim. You draped him sweetly. Curved over the immense rise behind the creased zipper, creating a stiff peak before sloping to the soft give of his stomach. It didn’t take more than a single experimental thrust for your thin panties to slide into your sticky need, working them snug to your heat and inciting the first true tug at your core. Whispers of relief roused at your center, but it wasn’t until your second try, when you tilted your hips and Eddie guided you down onto him, genuine satisfaction was achieved.

The low rumble from the bottom of his chest filled you with oozy pride.

You concentrated the friction on your clit, and Eddie concentrated on anything else.

He stopped sealing his kisses, letting the envelope of his lips fall open, slack, and inarticulate, never beginning nor ending the ode to your neck. His mouth hovered wherever his head hung, and in his stupor, he could do little more than use his tongue to cut a fat line through the luster beneath the hollow of your throat, letting the salt sit in his mouth before swallowing, grateful. With each movement, the scratchy grain on his jaw from that morning’s shave buffed your sensitive skin, and he lapped at the rawness he caused in apology. The higher you rose over the swell of his cock, the lower he prized you in sloppy drags of his ample lips. He cupped his ringed fingers to the underside of the lavender lace and used his heavenly tongue to lick the top of your breast, accentuating the curve for his teeth to savor you in a lovebite. Your nipples begged for him, and your back arched for him. Your mouth fell open with a gasp—”Eddie”—drawing out the last set of vowels before they devolved into a whimper. Soon, his head was a heavy burden between your tits, and you wrapped him in your naked arms, cradling him there with your fingers in his hair. Spit from his sloppy kisses smeared on your cleavage, wetting the stubble on his cheeks, and he remained smitten, moaning into them with each bounce on his lap.

He was so wrecked on intimacy. 

Loading your lungs with another sigh of his name, you rocked your hips in whichever way felt best, not paying attention to the way your inner thigh rolled over Eddie’s fat cock, again, and again. Satin on denim; faster, and faster, tensing your leg muscles and releasing them like a quick stroke down his length. You embraced him with your chin to his hair, panting over the frizz sticking to your lips. Tender, always. Committed to lauding gentle kisses to his scalp even as you chased the one thing on your mind. Grinding in quicker thrusts. Listening to his muffled praise, but not hearing him go quiet, or noticing his body go still when his thighs edged into a hard flex under your ass. You were oblivious to his hand falling from your bra, and his fingers anchoring onto your waist. You were too engrossed in the act, rutting like animals do. Lurching towards the inevitable one desperate grind at a time, quicker.. quicker.. Heeding what your body wanted. Racing, faster.. faster.. 

Abrupt pain bloomed where he shoved his palm into your thigh to stop you.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he panted in a ragged breath.

A new heat rushed to your cheeks. The dirty word spoken from his mouth engulfed you. It tingled and danced over your skin, firing signals of excitement in pulses. With clarity, you realized the few direct strokes during what was supposed to be foreplay had him tensing and trembling, trying to keep his release from arriving too early and making a mess of himself before getting to the real deal. Your nipples tightened at the knowledge, and your legs clenched on instinct. You almost made him cum his jeans. What a compliment.

Your puffy clit was sore from the brief friction, and you felt every centimeter of space he put between you and your reward, but it was like a switch flipped in your brain.

The sharp throbs of his fingers clamped onto the meat of your thigh and his thumb jammed into the soft muscle were forgotten when you looked down at the man who shied under your observation; his face aflame with the awareness he ruined your release as well and his, and his bashful eyes worried with remorse. He was the reason you craved the early dawn, and weekday nights. He was the reason your heart crowded your throat when you woke up and your first thought was to reach for the bracelet on your bedside dresser. He was the reason you took a liking to heavy metal and board games. He was the reason your body reacted to wafts of earthy tobacco in the air, only to be disappointed when the person behind you at the grocery store was just another smoker who hand rolled their cigarettes, as if they had the right to smell like Eddie Munson.

You looked down at the man who lived an isolated and thankless life, who found joy in the small things and loved with his whole heart, who had few outlets to express himself and receive love back, and nothing mattered to you more than giving him a reason to look at you differently come Monday morning.

You thumbed the edge of his jaw with a promise. “I’ll go slow, pretty boy.”

He made a choked off noise in response.

Eddie’s eyes followed the nuances of your movement as you rose from his lap and planted your feet on the carpet. His stance widened to make room for you, chest falling with a silent exhale; peering at you with a question between his brows, as if he were contemplating his luck. When you bent over and placed your palms on his thighs, you stole his gaze from the intimate way your cleavage shifted under gravity, and honored his lips a last time for the foreseeable future, about to show him how fortunate he really was.

You sank to your knees, dropping dry kisses onto his shirt in a path to his belly as you went, and lifted the hem. The bottom of the inked sword and dragon greeted you. Sparse hair fanned as you raised the shirt above his tattooed navel, and pushed it to the crease where his sternum and belly met. His stomach wasn’t as flat as when he stood, giving him a slight curve where it pushed past the edge of his belt—a roundness when he sat relaxed. You laid your elbows on his thighs, and avoided touching the large subject in your peripheral, instead shaping your hands to his hips, and bowing your head.

His muscles jumped under your lips.

Finally, you knew his ticklish spot.

He sucked in a breath, and squirmed at the scattered kisses to his sides. You applied more pressure, mashing your mouth to him with a giggly hum, and teased your wet lips through the thick curls leading downwards. The hairs grazed the sides of your mouth and nose. The warm metal from his belt buckle brushed your chin. You’d never guessed you’d come to know these sensations when you first met him and he made it clear your enthusiasm for life was not appreciated, but here you were, stroking your thumbs up his leather belt, bordering your grin with his happy trail.

Eddie skimmed his fingers over your wrists. “I’m not gonna last long,” he warned.

“That’s fine,” you assured him in a quick peck to the significant outline you’d become obsessed with, feeling him twitch beneath your lips. “We have all night to work on that.”

“What—? Jesus Christ, uh—okay.”

Sitting back on your calves, you held his gaze while you pulled the extra length of his belt through the loops in a smooth rush, and worked it through the handcuff buckle. You tightened the slack and loosened the pin with a nimble finger, undressing him with the ease of an expert.

Asking from a place of your own curiosity, you wondered, “How often do you jerk off?”

His eyebrows disappeared behind his tousled bangs.

Not yet used to you being so forward with him, he stammered on his tongue, but held his composure, much to the surprise of both of you. “Not that often, I guess.. Uh, a few times a month.”

You snorted. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know that, right? You can tell me if it’s everyday, I don’t care. It’s not like I’m gonna judge you.”

The two halves of his belt flopped to either side of his waist. With it out of the way, you pinched at the stamped button at the top of his stupidly tight jeans, but you had trouble getting a good grip on it. Here, let me—he mumbled in a small voice, lifting his hips off the couch to undo it himself, popping it through and revealing the waistband of his forest green boxers.

It was with great determination you aimed your gaze above his obvious grandeur when he started talking.

“I’m not lying,” he said during the sturdy grind of the zipper being tugged down. “Not exactly like I have a door to lock when I need some alone time around here, sweetness. Plus” —he grunted at the freedom his unzipped jeans granted him, pushing them lower on his hips— “I’m usually too worn out after work, and just wanna crash on the couch. Not to mention taking care of everything around here is exhausting. Just don’t have the energy most days.”

Reading the precious draw of sympathy between your brows, he sat on the edge of his bed, and reached into the fly at the front of his boxers. “But, uh, there has been a recent change in my life that’s motivated me to.. take better care of myself. More often.” A certain motivator who sat between his legs with her hands in her lap, piqued and obedient. “Lot more often than a couple months ago, before she started working with me.”

He wrapped his fingers around himself and stroked upward, moving his knuckles against the fabric. He’d been rambling to ease the anxiety from his nerves until only the adrenaline remained, and with his pretty girl biting her bottom lip at his impure thoughts, his stalling came to an end.

Out came his hand—broad palm and thick fingers stretched full—and you stared in silent awe.

The back of his pale wrist and rosy knuckles were the first to show. Prominent blue veins led to his crooked hand, thumb and foremost fingers grasping his base while the last two struggled to collect the rest. His wet tip grazed the top of his boxers, peaking the fabric and dragging it along in a mouthwatering sweep towards the opening, and out it bobbed in flushed hues of pink and needy red. Below, he used his other hand to lower the fly, and cupped his palm to his heavy hanging fruits. They slipped out one plump roundness at a time to display their greatness against his dark jeans in a weighty sway.

Eddie’s cock leaked a bead of anticipation for you.

Starting with a lazy tug, he stroked himself. The arousing sheen smeared around his tip glistened, shining anew with the pass of his fist. As predicted, he curved to the right, and the fact he could hardly overlap his thumb to get a good hold on himself spoke of his size. All of him was beautiful, and you felt beautiful when another drip of precum swelled from his pretty head, threatening to fall before your very eyes.

He was thrilled by your shock. “Want it?”

“Need it,” you responded in a faint exhale.

With a smirk deepening his smoky tone, he kept moving his hand up and down, and granted you permission, “It’s all yours.”

You snapped your attention to his face, and inched forward until you were snug against the couch, eager and motivated by the lustful stretch in your thighs exposing your soaked cunt to the air. Good and pleasing, you clasped your hands politely in the folds of your bunched up skirt, and framed your arms around your chest.

Dipping your head, you lolled out your tongue for his approval.

His expression was the highest compliment; revering you with crinkles at the corners of his heavy-lidded gaze, lips stretched into a genuine smile which emphasized the elusive dimple on his cheek, and defined the bags under his eyes. Strands of his finger-swept messy curls stuck out at odd angles after you had your way with his hair, grazing his high cheekbones, and thick neck.

His heart pounded louder in his chest the longer he stared at your offering.

Weight pressed down on the plush middle of your tongue. It left, then happened again, again. Again, he tapped the fat head of his cock to the sticky wetness, mixing his salty taste with your spit. Bestowing you the gift, and taking it away. Teasing you. He slapped his heaviness down in a dull throb of owning you, and lifted it off to run his fingers over his own length, jerking himself off at an easy pace he wouldn’t cum from before putting his weeping tip to your tongue once more for you to admire, but not indulge. It was the cruelest, and hottest, thing he’d ever done to you.

When he next rubbed his head along the supple muscle and took it away, you tempted him into giving you mercy.

His lungs stuttered at your first demure kiss to the underside of his cock. You listened to his shallow breath on the second, released in a short ahh on the third. On the fourth, you vied for privilege to spoil him. He relented. How could he not?

To give himself a better angle to watch, he propped one of his hands behind him, and dropped his cheek to his shoulder, where his hair poured in a mass of tangles. The broad grin he wore waned to a subtler emotion as you hummed for the silky skin thrumming against your lips, feeling him shift when he lifted his thumb from taming his hard-on down.

Eddie marveled at how you balanced his cock on your pout. Amusement—and an unending amount of tenderness—gentled his features. He was sweet on you. You were sweet on him.

Treating him how he deserved, you rolled your tongue around your mouth to gather spit, and pushed it past your lips to wet his slick head, making your kisses slip against him in a smooth glide. You showered him in small pecks at first. Short kisses with the cutesy sounds pressed to the sensitive ridges which earned Eddie’s involuntary moan; low and thick, drawing from the months of pining for this moment. Venturing into more, you darted your tongue out to test his reaction when you licked the valley between the halves of his plump tip, and you winced. His cock kicked up, and fell in a smack. It was painful, probably bruising the delicate inner flesh of your lips when it smashed them against your teeth. You thanked him in an acquiescent whine.

It was addictive—a daze. With nothing but gravity to keep him in place, you cherished your favorite mechanic’s cock openly and honestly. You flattened your tongue to him in a loving lap, and chased it with a long drag of your lips up the underside to the round head, struggling to keep your eyes open from the bliss of tasting his reward, and suckling noisily for more.

Eddie accepted defeat in a sudden, disappointed grunt, “Yeah.. I’m not gonna last long.”

He fell backwards in a dramatic flourish.

Sprawled almost flat, his shoulders hit the cushions, and his body melted into the position with his fingers laced over his eyes as a shield. A groan of despair reverberated in his throat. Poor Eddie, can’t last long with his favorite receptionist’s mouth around his cock. A giggle bubbled from your chest, and you were about to repeat your promise to go slow, but the words wouldn’t form.

Your mouth had other plans than wasting their time on reassurances.

In his melodramatic moping, his dick left your lips and flopped onto his belly—which was a loss you felt in your soul—but with how he slouched into the cushions, a fruitful endeavor presented itself. Swung, and bounced, actually.

You leaned in, and became acquainted with your hand around his girth; familiarizing yourself with the naked warmth in your palm, and his airy whimper when you did.

The top of his boxers brushed your knuckles as you drifted your hand up in a single stroke. One fluid glide on the cock which belonged to you. He did say it was yours, after all. And though the thought alone had you wishing it was stretching your tight cunt in a blend of pain and pleasure, you had a yearning for what else moved up and down when you pumped your fist.

“Eddie?” you called. He peered at you from the shadow of his fingers. Innocently, you traced the bottom of his sack, and oh so carefully settled them into the nest of your unblemished palm. “Are these mine too?”

A croak broke his speechlessness. “Y-Yeah, those are yours, too. If you want them.”

Please was written in your grateful lurch towards his cock. Thank you was expressed in your lush moan when he entered your mouth.

“Baby,” he whined in a docile sigh.

You sank his cock into the wet heat he needed, but only for the purpose of curving your tongue to his begging tip and bathing him in your spit, using your hand to work it down his shaft. Except, you got carried away. A few strokes in, and you put your lips tight around his head, and already there was a warning forming between his brows.

You backed off. His face went lax in relief.

“Feels too good, sweetheart,” he praised from the depths of his gravelly voice. “Gonna make me cum like that.”

Your pussy ached to be spoken to that way.

Moving your attention away from how pitifully empty you felt, you loosened your grip and twisted your wrist to massage the base of his slick cock; not exploring upwards, just giving him enough friction to keep him on edge without spilling over. A perfect amount of pleasure, you guessed, from his red face emerging from behind his hands, raising them to comb his bangs off the fine layer of sweat beading on his forehead, and blinking himself out of his haze just in time to see you lower your face between his thighs.

You tended to him first with a kiss. An opening, or introduction, to your lips finding the spot beneath your working thumb where the hardness ended and the velvety skin began. He tensed. His legs flexed around your shoulders, bringing his knees in all shy like, like he was self conscious to have you down there. And maybe it was one thing to have his balls cupped in your palm, but it was another to have you nosing around the opening of his boxers when he hadn’t gone through with his plan of trimming back the hedges.

All he could do was stare when you inhaled his scent after he spent the day cleaning his home, running errands, driving across town to pick you up, and sitting next to you during scene after scene of horrors playing on a screen directly across from the terrifying event of holding your hand while trying not to out-sweat his t-shirt.

His bewilderment was apparent, but so was your enjoyment.

You burrowed your nose at the narrow opening of his fly, and tilted his cock to the side, finding the thick thatch of curls growing around his base, and admiring his heavy musk breaking through the perfumed Dove soap. A heavy purr of pleasure rumbled in your throat, coming out as a nasally moan against the wrinkled skin you kissed. So enraptured by his body, you couldn’t hold back anymore. You had to part your lips, and run your tongue along the seam of his sack. It was with a dire urge you stopped at the bottom, and flaunted how big he was by snuggling your nose to the heft and lifting.

You draped his balls over your mouth.

It was silly to him, and you didn’t mind the tss of laughter, but to you, earning his baffled smile while your giggle was buried under his sack was vital to your design. Their ripe heat enveloped you. The stripe you licked was wet on the tip of your nose. His natural scent swaddled you. Both corners of your lips were encumbered by the wonderful weight hanging on either side, brushing your cheeks as you swallowed the taste of his tangy sweat. You kissed up into the excess skin stretched over your face, and they rolled to your chin when you changed the angle you were teasing his cock, disciplining him towards his stomach so you had more room to worship the pome.

Warming him to the idea, you flattened your tongue to one side and ran it along the fullness, curving up, and dragging down in a long caress. In a breath, he placed his hand on his stomach where his shirt gathered, and skimmed the other over his body until it laid on top of his jeans, in the crease between his hip and thigh. You could see his fingers work themselves into the loose denim out of the corner of your eye, and heard them relax when you traced the other side of his sack, ending with a murmur to the textured skin.

“Too much?” you asked—he shook his head before you could finish the question, still hanging onto a suggestion of his fascinated squint at what you were doing to him.

With his approval, you indulged.

The gentle licks evolved to sloppy circles, eager to prize and polish, ensuring there was no part of his balls gone neglected. Lapping at, kissing at, making out with another spot on his body out of a necessity to fawn over every inch of him. Willing to nuzzle your way between the plumpness and have your drool drag wetly across your cheeks in his name. Fully content with messier and messier affections, cozying your nose to the base of his curls until he understood how little it bothered you to be smothered by his nature.

Unable to resist satisfying him how he deserved, you dropped an open kiss to the squish of his sack, and suckled on a small section, checking his reaction.

Not an ounce of protest glimmered behind his lashes, eyes falling almost closed at the intimate gesture between two people who were never supposed to be more than coworkers.

You parted your lips, and accepted a mouthful. 

Eddie whimpered.

His toes curled into the carpet at the novel sensation. There was an incredible amount of trust required to fight the instinct to pull away. Even his fingers strained the denim when you drew your lips around one of his balls, and slackened your jaw. It was with great respect you brought him into your mouth, and cradled the weight on your tongue, cheeks stretched full and soft. You held him there for a long second. The rain was a steady noise of the roof, but your exhale was loud in the space between his thighs. Quiet suspense followed your hand climbing his shaft.

You wrapped your fingers around his hopeful tip, and fitted your thumb to the valley on the underside. In perfect sync, and with your eyes steady on his face, you hollowed your cheeks and squeezed each of your fingers at the same gentle pace.

“Fuck, baby—”

At once, Eddie’s unabashed groan inspired you, and his balls jerked in response to the direct touch in the places he needed it. From pinky to index, you massaged his fat head in a smooth pulse—matching the strokes of your thumb—and though your grip was light, he was already kneading his hand along his inner thigh and clamping it down close to your face. You soothed him on your tongue as best you could, and eased him into having more pressure from your lips, sucking harder on the most sensitive part of him.

Concentration stressed a shadow between his brows; chest braced on a held breath.

The telltale sign of his skin tightening in your mouth, along with his clenched stomach and abnormal silence, had you testing his limits. But it was too fun feeling his legs squirm at the effortless flow your fingers performed, coaxing him closer to coming undone and still daring to smear the swells of precum over the pleading edge of his tip, again and again, but slower. Slower. Memorizing the metallic slink of his guitar pick running along the ball chain necklace when you released him, and his chest sank with a sigh.

His voice cracked a notch higher, “Jesus, you’re really into this, huh, sweetheart?” he asked, but you couldn’t answer.

Before committing to his other ball, you spat into your cupped fingers, and put them to his cock, adjusting how you held him until you could look past and see the handsome glint of respect in his eyes, and he could gaze into wealth of adoration in yours.

“Love being on my knees for you,” you mumbled sweetly, kissing your way to the other side of his sack. “Love your cock, Eddie.”

His name, spoken where it was on his body, brought out a smugger twist to his already prideful grin. “Yeah? You like it?”

Rushing at the chance to compliment your man, you straightened your spine, and punctuated your words along the thick vein leading up to the drips of seed. “Love it,” you promised in a syrupy yearn, swallowing the bitter salt. “Love your cock; love it so much. It’s my favorite.”

“Is it the best?”

The question was tonally rich with confidence, but just in case there was any doubt woven into the wording itself, you regarded the man who went to work early on a day he had off for the purpose of leaving flowers on your desk, and smiled.

“Yeah,” you confessed, recalling a memory from the earlier months, after your first failed date, when he shared his can of Coke with you at lunch because the vending machine was out, and two sets of chapsticked lip prints were left around the metal rim. “It’s the best.”

You hugged his cock to your cheek, and nuzzled the warmth as you would any other part of him, humming a sunshiny hum, and parted ways to return to your true calling further down.

This time, Eddie groaned in relief when you settled his other ball in your mouth—”That’s it.”

With your newly slick hand, you slipped your palm over his desperately purple tip with ease. His thighs jumped into a flex, and his stomach fluttered with tension—almost like he was going to lose himself right there—but he exhaled hard through his nose, and became better at existing in the mutual pleasure. This was as much for you as it was for him.

There was a scrunch of determination above his nose, and a strong edge to his jaw, but otherwise, his fingers were gentle on your temple. 

“You always know how to make me feel good,” he said, tracing his knuckles downward, lacing multitudes of meanings behind the sentence. Physical, and emotional.

He prodded his thumb into the hollow of your cheek, feeling how full you were of him; how his calloused fingerpad rocked in the same rhythm of your lips sealing around him and sucking; and you leaned into the tender gesture of his open palm, to which he cupped your jaw with a sentiment tantamount to what you were baring.

A sweet man through and through, even as he trembled in your fist.

You curved your tongue around the tight skin in your mouth, and moaned prettily for him. Frequent moans, ardent moans, moans appealing to his ego, moans you’d hear on a tape rented from the backroom of a competing video store with a black curtain separating it from the wholesome movies up front. Performing for him, finding what he liked. Which lick, which whine, which speed had his cock leaking over your fingers. Which trick made the creases between his brows mature, and his mouth fall open: the answer was two fast pumps over his throbbing head, and back down to his base for a respite, prolonging his release with a thank you on his heavy eyelids.

Prolonging, at least, until two fast pumps became a naughty blur of more—Oh, fuck, baby—and his brushes along your cheek went rare, and he licked his dry lips in the fog of his ramping high, and he hung his head back to the dense cushions, and his question escaped his throat in a hoarse huff, “You wanna—?” and it wasn’t a question at all.

You pushed your lips in soft goodbye to his sack, and his fingers under your jaw communicated his wish, aiding your chin up with a light pressure until your mouth was tasting the result of his aching lust. Slow and steady, you lavished his head in tame licks, building into a long sweep over the top. Warming yourself up to the painful stretch your lips were about to endure while his kind fingertips coasted over your hair, and found themselves at the back of your neck. Drawing out the seconds he tucked his thumb behind your ear, and rubbed circles. Sitting in the moment of something delicate, before things changed, and the platonic line became a horizon.

You drove his tip past your lips, and channeled all your appreciation into sucking Eddie’s cock.

He whimpered in surprise. A different whimper than before; not a drowsy noise he may make when rolling over in bed, but a sputtered note expelled in bursts of heavy breaths, singing a hymn to your blood.

The pace was not shy.

You descended to meet your fingers wrapped around his shaft, and reached your temporary depth where his hardness caressed the back of your mouth, and your throat clenched. Pulling back, you focused on his head, wetting his length with the sudden drool, and busying your other hand with his balls, cupping and stroking them in gentle passes.

“Ri–Right there, yeah, God, right there, sweet girl.” The syllables were mashed and dropped and disconnected on his whine.

Flicking your gaze up, you thrived on his fixated stare, bobbing your head on his tip only. Sliding your lips back and forth over the luscious ridge which had his tongue pressed against his bottom teeth. Massaging your wet heat around the center of his pleasure; encouraging a pinch in his expression as if he were in pain when he was in anything but.

Being higher on your knees meant your tits could be seen, and what a delicious sight it was for him to covet. Braced by your bra, your cleavage bounced as you pumped your fist along his cock, grazing your nipples above the opaque floral applique, cresting them beyond the sheer lace. It was enough to make his stomach squeeze, and his fingers tremble in the baby hairs at your nape.

His cock twitched twice in your mouth, conveying a message.

You welcomed him to the back of your throat, gladly this time, accepting the overfulness making it hard to breathe and the soreness surely to come, using your hand for the rest you could not take. No amount of uncomfortableness would make you shy from showing him the recognition he earned. For years he didn’t see the value in himself, and knowing the person who saved a Laffy Taffy wrapper to tell you the joke on the back didn’t prioritize his own happiness compelled you to take him deeper, faster. You shaped your tongue to the outline of his cock, and chased your lips with your fist, hollowing your cheeks at the top, teetering him on the cusp, rousing him until your skin buzzed from the friction and his hips pitched. Bringing him so close to the edge that when you broke away to catch your breath, his muscles shivered, and the shadows between his brows lessened as they arched higher from the mounting pleasure, where every touch on his body felt better and better and better than the last.

In the brief seconds you wrapped both your hands around his length, he made a pleading noise with the added weight of his warm palm at the back of your head—an urgency in his disheveled state, but not without the option of choice.

At once, he was at home in your throat.

In a union, your fingers wrenched his waistband into your damp palm, and he laid his hand across your knuckles. The control was yours, but the pace was his. He fucked himself into your pliant mouth in short, quick thrusts; ever attentive to keep his thumb strokes on your cheek unquestionably loving.

“Gonna make me—” He found the angle to cant his hips so you could watch him unravel; eyes falling closed and face tipped to the ceiling. “—Make me cum, baby,” he finished, voice light as air.

Throat flushed bright pink, cheeks dark red. Eddie panted into a shaky moan of true relief, and your core craved to be the one to take care of his needs, but there was something special about proving your attraction to him in every way you could.

The ridges of his greedy tip found where they were best brushed, and his hips lost their tempo. His stomach sank and stuttered in pulses. A dear emotion clutched your chest, letting loose when he crashed into his climax.

His knees closed you in, crowding you to his lap. “I’m gonna—” he gasped, rough and breathless; presented as a warning for the shot of bitter taste at the back of your throat, filling your mouth and spilling over your tongue with each throb of the thick vein pumping over your swollen bottom lip.

Something undeniable feathered the vulnerability of the position.

You swallowed.

And when more remained after it slid down your throat, you steadied his twitching cock over the offering of your tongue and jerked him off, stealing more drips to satiate you, swallowing with your lips pressed in a kiss to his overstimulated tip. “Baby,” he begged with his head thrown back, legs shifting restlessly around you. He sucked in breaths. Squirmed. Bit his tongue. Tugs of laughter played at his screwed up mouth, so desperate to resist giving in to a true grin when you rode out his high until he was beginning to soften, and the euphoria wore off to a dozy tingles, and the tingles dissipated into you giving him mercy, and mercy gave way to the aftermath.

In all the awkwardness of reality, you unceremoniously wiped your hands on his jeans, and right as he properly tucked himself back into his boxers, he beckoned you with open arms, gripping at your hips and bringing you onto the couch in a clumsy tumble; straddling his lap with his eager kisses seeking your jaw, your neck, your mouth which worked so hard for him. “Fucking amazing, baby,” he mumbled at the corner of your lips. You didn’t need the words—you’d heard them all before—but the reassurance of his arms locked tight around your middle, and the golden rays of honey shining so bright in his eyes allayed the tiny ball of worry at the pit of your stomach telling you he’d next follow it up with an excuse to send you home, as did every man before him.

“‘Mazing, ‘mazing, ‘mazing,” he mushed together on his way to your slack lips, bringing you out of your thoughts and into a kiss. “And dare I say, ‘amazing?’”

His ability to make you giggle when your bare stomachs were pressed together was the sort of tenderness you sought, and he provided.

You rubbed the tip of your nose along his, so very aware of his broad grin, and sweet nature. “You’re silly.”

“That I am!” he stated proudly.

Dipping to complete your gentle smile with his, you sank into the acceptance of him wanting to take your bottom lip between his, and flatter himself with the knowledge of where it’s been, what parts of him it became intimate with, instead of avoiding what was only human. He noticed your cold skin beneath his hands, and ran them along your back and upper arms. There was a motive behind his fingers slipping under the hem of your skirt, and palming you forward—where your heartbeats hammered together, and heat stirred in the lack of layers separating you—but still, there was one more affection you thought he deserved before the night moved on to your own.

Shivers chased his thumb braving the roundness of your breast, edging closer to the sensation of due pleasure yearning to be released. He spoke straight to your needs by putting the suggestion in your hips, “It’s your turn now.”

You stopped yourself from toppling to the cushions, and upheld your decent balance through your grip on his shoulders. “Wait,” you complained without malice, forgiving him for not reading your mind, “I’m not through with you yet.”

The word choice sparked intrigue across his face, then it cautioned to curiosity at the ominous roll of thunder rumbling through the trailer, clanking the mugs on the wall behind him.

He turned his head to the side, eyeing you. “What does that mean?”

~~~

“God, that feels so good.”

“Yeah, right there.. A little to the left—Oh fuck, right there.”

“So fucking good, sweetheart, keep going.”

Perturbed, you asked him, “Do you ever shut up?” and kneaded your knuckles harder into the knot of muscle between his shoulder blades, earning a louder groan than when you had his dick in your mouth.

One of the horror movies played on the TV, volume turned high for the alien’s gargled dialogue to be heard over the storm. Eddie’s lanky body was limp with sleepiness, melting under the smooth strokes of your palms starting at the base of his neck and gliding downward over his shirt, dragging another grunt out of him when his voice was hoarse from shameless use, not tempering it for a late night where he’d employ his range outside of singing for Corroded Coffin. He mumbled another praise, but his face was smashed to his pillow, rendering what he said unintelligible. His strong back rose with a shallow breath, and you moved with it. The couch was crowded, but you insisted he get comfortable, even if you had to straddle the curve of his ass with one knee fallen to the alarm of crayons and crumbs stuck between the cushions, and your other leg hung off the edge. This worked for him, though. It gave his hand a place to hold you, fingers clasped to your calf and thumb tending to you in little sweeps of truth. I need to touch you. The room was smothered in darkness, save for the brighter scenes highlighting the glossy line of his eye fighting a losing battle one massage of your thumbs into the pockets of soreness at a time.

You worked at the tense muscles with his comforter draped around your shoulders. It slipped down to greet the chafing air, rushing goosebumps over your skin. After the fourth time adjusting it, you left it gathered at your waist. Making sure Eddie was taken care of was more important. And the college girl turning into goo occupied what was left of your attention.

Though, soon, your tendons ached from effort, and staying-up-late stole the water you yawned from your eyes, and the comfort of being with someone who appreciated you wore heavy on your bones.

You grabbed the blanket, and leaned forward.

Brushing back the mess of curls covering the side of his face, you combed through the strands of hair stuck to his stubble, and found his chubby cheek smushed to his shoulder. You kissed him. “I adore you.”

He put a weak squeeze in his palm behind your knee, and spoke through the grog, “I adore you too, baby.”

Adore. Using the endearment in place of another word, and still, the weight was understood by the both of you.

Housed in the cozy heat of his body, sheltered from the rain lashing the windows in sheets, and the howling wind whistling past the corrugated metal roof in gusts, you sighed. Thunder vibrated from the floor, to the couch, to him, to you.

“You’re too sweet to me,” he said, sounding more awake.

“I’m exactly as sweet as you deserve.”

Instead of using his words to express he wanted to turn over, he just started rolling beneath you, forcing you to rip yourself from his divine warmth, and settle upright on his lap.

You were reminded of the reason you were cold when his eyes trailed over your naked skin, not afraid to show their appetite for your chest. The hunger in his hands returned, scaling the plush expanse of your thighs, and feasting his thumbs higher on the sensitive inner haven he’d yet to pay tribute to.

A smirk cut across his mouth. With a slow breath, he rocked his hips, grinding his half-hard cock against your neglected need, now attuned with the perfect tilt to achieve that pretty noise from your mouth which riled him like nothing else.

Oh, he was very awake.

Eddie exhaled with a pitying sound with attentive eyebrows, almost like he was mocking your moan. “You look so good up there, sweetheart,” he admired through his teasing. “Could get used to it..”

“Yeah?” you questioned. Reaching between your joined bodies, you held no qualms about circling your fingers over his cock, and honoring just under his head, ending your stroke just before he could reap the benefit.

He tipped his head back to gain his wits, finding his answer in the darkness behind his eyelids. “But you keep forgetting this night was about you, and thanking you for everything you’ve done for me. And then you go and add that on top of it.” Private fantasies took hold of him, influencing his heavy moan and thumbs climbing higher, higher. “Gotta thank you for so many things, sweetheart. So many.. However many you want,” he said, alluding to his way of showing gratitude. Fresh lust rushed to your soaked heat hugging his length. “Gotta get you out of these, though.” He scratched a nail over your pantyhose.

You snorted, accidentally ushering humor into what was a sexy exchange. “Why bother? You already ripped them.”

“I what?” Plain confusion marked his face.

Treating it like an ordinary thing, you bunched your skirt up to your waist, and drew his gaze to your mismatched black panties. You gandered at them as well, second guessing if you should’ve taken the extra time to find the lavender pair somewhere at the bottom of your drawer.

“Yeah,” he groaned; as his chest fell, his cock swelled. “I’m gonna show you just how thankful I am, again, and again, and again,” he trailed off, each word fluttering the heartbeat at your core—

Lightning struck, and the phone rang.

Jolting, Eddie stared at it from a long moment, breath held as if that alone would will it into submission from ringing a second time. Spikes of prickly anxiety stabbed at your chest, frightened out of the moment worse than any jumpscare.

It rang a second time.

He took the initiative and sat up, consoling you with his hand on your back and a kiss on your cheek. “I’m sure it’s nothing, just stay put and make yourself comfortable, sweet girl. I’ll be right back.”

Use your pet names all he wanted, his voice didn’t instill confidence when it went flat and wavered.

He got up from the couch and you were left feeling exposed, nestling into the blanket as the rain picked up, and the buzzy feeling he left imprinted on your skin faded.

“Hello?” he answered, rubbing his stomach above the open fly of his jeans.

As he listened to the man’s voice on the other end, he dropped his hand, and his shoulders sagged at the information.

Turning away, he huddled the receiver to his ear, and asked, “Is she okay?”

His question didn’t have the direness a parent should have if someone were hurt, so you stood up and padded softly to the kitchen, straining your ears, listening intently and discerning a few sniffles. But one little girl’s cry rang above them all. A shrill call for her Daddy to save her from her greatest fear.

Thunder rocked the trailer.

“Yeah.. Yeah, I’ll come get her.”

The phone clicked into its holder on the wall, and like that, the illusion was shattered. It was no longer just you and him spending a night together, carefree. Responsibility took precedence, and when Eddie faced you, his mood was tainted by all the things he explained about being exhausted from just existing his thankless life, judged by all.

He stared into your optimistic gaze knowing this is when you’d get a dose of his reality as a single father.

With how easy the first date had been to make, Eddie wasn’t expecting it to be so hard to pin you down for the next one. Neither of your schedules had lined up for the rest of the week, and up until next Friday neither of you had much free time. You either had to stay at work late or he had to stay late for the three extracurriculars he was running (jazz club, D&D club, and co-runner of the school’s GSA) – which he’d only be annoyed about running if he didn’t absolutely love the kids. The extra overtime didn’t hurt either, perks of working at a rich kid private arts school.

At first he was nervous you were busy going on dates with other guys until he called you one night and he could hear your boss in the background waxing poetic about the shift to lab grown sapphires. Then he’d feel bad for feeling so accusatory to start – you’d never said anything to each other about being exclusive. Hell, you’d only been on one date. But you talked every day, and fuck did that feel good for Eddie. 

g’morning pretty  ew you’re obsessed with me. good morning, boy

He’s happy he knows you’re joking because he’s certain no other guy would get it. He knows you read his text and screamed into your pillow, cheeks hot and chest thrumming. That’s why you always have to respond so mean so that he doesn’t know how much you like him back. This backfires, because he can tell that the meaner you are, the more you like his attention.

what’s your weekend look like? i know you leave for AZ on sunday but i’d really like to see you before you go. 

You were headed to a gem trade show in Tucson on Sunday for a few days. You went every year you’d been working for your boss, you told him all about it on the phone. You’re cute when you’re excited but he didn’t want to embarrass you by saying so – just let you rattle on about all the things you get to see. You promised to send him pictures of some of the cool fossils you might come across, all of the big crystal furniture.  “You were a weird dinosaurs kind of kid, right? You’d be into pictures of fossils?" “Why are you so mean? Would you go up to nine year old me and call him a weird kid that’s into dinosaurs?” “No, he’d be so sad.” “So next time you wanna say some mean shit, imagine you’re saying it to nine year old me.” “I bet you were a cute kid,” you thought out loud, “You’re a really cute adult.” 

“You think I’m cute?” “The cutest.” His face burned at every compliment you offered him, flushing dark pink at every sweet word you said. He was a mess. Embarrassment would flood him when he’d check his phone during class, the kids would never let him hear the end of it.  “Did you meet her on Tinder, Mr. E?”  “This is not appropriate class discussion guys,” his eyes would shut tight in frustration when they’d catch him texting you back and he’d reluctantly tuck his phone into his back pocket. They were way bolder than he was at their age. “No because like, you’re so happy though. Look how you’re smiling when you text her.” “Mr. Munson’s got that W rizz.”  “Is she hot?” “Be fucking forreal. He’s blushing so hard right now.” “Smash or pass, Munson?” “Guys, can you relax? You literally have a test right now." Bzz. Bzz.

i gotta run errands on saturday and go then leave sunday night :( working late friday cause we need to take gem inventory essentially He sighed, he didn’t want to wait until next Friday to see you again. 

i could run errands with you if you’ll have me. i’ll drive! you sure? it’s not super exciting stuff. you make it exciting. :) i’ll take you out to lunch. sound good? okay :) okay :)  see you saturday, cutie omg shut up 🙄 but yeah. see you saturday. :) 

He was nervous you’d notice he got his interior detailed the night before, but he was too embarrassed to let you get into the car in its original glory. He honked the horn in three short bursts, being mindful of the neighbors even though it was around 9:30 in the morning.  You inch out of the door of your place, the first floor of a quaint three family home, in your Princess Diana best. You dressed for errands and his heart swells, leggings and a big sweatshirt, little white sneakers and socks. You look cute like this, hurrying outside with your paper Old Navy bag blowing in the wind, relaxed and laid back. But you aren’t for long, you take a step outside only to feel the chill in the ‘second winter’ air of March and raise a finger to him before running back inside — reappearing with a lightweight parka haphazardly thrown on. You patter to the car and he tries to ignore his heart rate speeding up while he leans over to open it for you. “Hey you,” he smiles, “Good morning.”  “Morning,” you say with a coy smile. His chest leans forward slightly to kiss you as you settle in but he stops short. Are you there yet? You only kissed that night last week. What if you weren’t ready to kiss again? He swallows, settling back into his seat but recognizing how his car fills with your scent. You smell so fucking good he could eat you.  “So what’s the agenda, sugar?” he asks.   “Okay, agenda: Target, Old Navy for a return,” you say, raising your bag, “I have to run into Sephora to pick up some sunscreen for my boss, and um…I think that’s it? They’re all in the same shopping center over by um – by the movie theater.”  “Oh yeah,” he nods, “I know the one.”  He reaches for the sound system, turning the volume up a little, Lamb of God’s Vanishing crunching through his speakers. He watches for your reaction and can tell you don’t know it, but you don’t seem appalled or repulsed.  “Do you have a tunes preference?” he asks, voice velvety smooth, eyes catching on your parted lips, “It’s a long drive.”  “Uh…” your knee bounces faster, “I mean it’s your car. We should listen to what you wanna listen to.”  “Honey, I’m like your Uber driver today,” he offers, head tilting while he looks over at you. Eddie’s gaze lingers on your face with soft eyes, lashes a shadow over his irises, “How’m I gonna get a five star review if you don’t like the music?” 

“I do!” you assure aggressively, “I do like it.”

“Here, I have a plan,” he nods, holding his hand out, “Gimme your phone.” 

You toss him a look which triggers an eye roll from him, “Just trust me, give me your phone.” 

“Here’s the bargain, I connect your tunes to my car,” he mumbles while he disconnects his phone from the car’s Bluetooth and connects yours instead, “But I get to pick the songs. Deal?” 

A giggle bubbles out of you, shoulders shaking loosely, “That’s ridiculous.” 

“But is it a deal?” he asks again. He takes a breath that inflates his chest, while you consider it. It’s not fair that you look so cute this morning, it’s not fair that he doesn’t have the confidence to just reach over and lay one on you like they do in the movies. He wasn’t lying when he said you were so kissable. 

“It’s a deal,” you nod. He watches your knee slow down to stopping. Eddie swallows, eyes traveling from your knees to your full thighs sitting fat in his passenger's seat with a quick scan that you don’t notice. 

“Okay, so let’s see…” he mutters, going into your music and scrolling through your artists, landing pretty early on with an enthusiastic nod that makes his waves bounce around his face. 

“Blood Brothers?” he asks, “Wow, you really did hate your dad, huh? I haven’t heard this album in years.”

“I started liking them for a boy back in high school,” you shrugged while he thumbed through the tracks, “Then started liking them forreal.” “That’s okay,” he smiles over at you, “You’d be surprised to see my Spotify wrapped every year. Never as mean and scary as you’d expect.” 

“No?” your brows raise, “Not a bunch of ‘Stabby Metal Scream Crunch Stab’ in your top ten?” 

He scoffs, settling on ‘Set Fire to the Face on Fire’, the opening Fire! Fire! Fire! leaking through the speakers, “I married the head cheerleader at my high school – I’d like to think my music taste is pretty eclectic. Metal’s just, y’know, the main course. Plenty of side dishes on my roster.” 

“You a big fan of having something on the side?” you quirk a brow at him through the rear view mirror while he puts the car in drive. He scoffs again, lips twitching up into a smirk. You’re quick and it makes his blood rush, his fingers drum nervously on the wheel while he keeps the car in place.

“Why’re you so mean, huh?” he teases, “Do I look like the kind of guy that’s had a lot of side pieces?” 

“Oh,” you start, giving him a once over, “Not even close.” 

“You’re here with me, aren’t you?” he asks, putting the car in park again. He turns down the volume, turning his body completely towards you. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” you drone, turning yourself toward him in return,  “I guess I am.” Eddie clears his throat, tongue flicking over his full lips to wet them. 

“So uh…before we hit the road,” his voice cracks, heart rattling in its cage, trapped in his chest, “D’you-think-I-could-steal-a-kiss-good-morning?” It pours out of his mouth while his body goes numb – like the bandaid was ripped off but someone else did it for him. His hopeful voice when he presents the offer sounds foreign to him, but he knows what he’s asking you. Blood rushes in his ears, the steady thump of his heart pounding through his veins. Your bottom lip tucks into your teeth, eyes shutting briefly with anticipation, a tiny chuckle huffs through your nose. Your knee starts to bounce again. 

“Yeah, but it’s not stealing if I’m letting you have one,” you reply, your own voice becoming delicate and girlish, teenage nerves coasting down your throat through the back of your neck. He leans close to you, engulfed again in the scent of your perfume, head leaning to the side slightly while your movements mirror his. Eddie brings a hand up to hold your face, keeping you steady while he goes in for the kill, one he’d been hoping to make since he saw you last. Heart stuck in his throat, he almost feels a sob shoot through his chest when his lips touch yours. It’s as soft and warm as he remembers. As soft and warm as the moment he’s been replaying in his head since last Monday. 

You both break apart but he doesn’t move away from your face, hand dropping from your cheek to your bouncing knee where he gives it a gentle squeeze, “Are you nervous?” 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “I think maybe, yeah. But I’m excited, too. Y’know, to spend the day with you.” 

It’s his turn to feel giddy and embarrassed, a flush building steadily on the apples of his cheeks, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m nervous, too. But it’s  just gonna be a nice, chill day, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nod, both of you wearing matching smiles. 

“I do have a rule, though,” his brows furrow, implying he’s serious. You look very seriously back at him. 

“I gotta kiss you every time you’re startin’a look a little too good,” he gives you a shrug of one shoulder before settling back into the driver’s seat while he pulls onto the road, “Cause I don’t know if you saw, but the way you look this morning is fucking illegal.” 

You let out a soft tsss from between your teeth, shaking your head while you settle back into your seat, “You’re so stupid.” 

“I’m just a man, sugar,” he tilts his head, readjusting behind the wheel before putting the car back in drive. He restarts the song before pulling onto the road, feeling like maybe this errands date would go much, much better than he’d planned. He drums on the steering wheel again, head softly bouncing along with the beat of the song while the lyrics scream through the car. You mouth along with them, staring out the window while you do. 

‘Those cold hooks, cemetery claws raking at the infant's jaws,Set fire to the horse on fire,Set fire to the dress on fire,Set fire to the stage on fire,Set fire to the stars on fire!’

“Damn, me and the band shoulder cover this,” he nods to himself, “We’d fuckin’ crush.” 

“Can you scream like that?” you ask, turning your head to face him, “I feel like I’d blow my vocal chords.” 

“Eh, sorta kinda,” he tilts his head from side to side, “I got plenty of practice. Do plenty of screaming with our own stuff, you sorta train your voice up to do it. I might not be able to scream as high but, I could harmonize with Jeff – lead guitar if you remember –” “I remember,” you smile, “And his wife Alycia.” 

“And is wife Alycia! Damn, look at you,” he smiles, “You should write my memoirs. But yeah, surprisingly Jeff can get pretty high up there – it’s super impressive.”

“Well when you cover it, I’ll come watch,” you nod, “You still haven’t really told me about your band.” 

“Corroded Coffin?” he asks, turning into a coffee shop drive-thru and pulling up behind a short line of cars, “Not much to tell. We play shows every couple weeks, in the summer every week, at a few bars around the city that are into that scene. We have fun – still play at our old stomping grounds in Hawkins, too. Same five drunks cheering us on for the last twelve years.” 

His eyes widen at the realization, “Twelve years, Jesus. I’m so fuckin’ old.”   

“Oh, thank god I only have two years until I’m fuckin’ old,” you laugh, “You don’t look old.” 

“You don’t look old either,” he smiles, giving you a once over that you immediately feel shy under, “What can I get you?” 

“Oh no, no,” you shake your head, reaching for your wallet in your Old Navy bag, “I’ll get it, seriously. You’re driving me.” 

“No, please, I’ll get it,” he says, pushing your hand down gently while you offer your card. 

“I wanna pay for it, you’re already going out of your way to do all this boring shit,” you offer again. He plucks your card from your fingers and flicks it into the backseat. He shrinks when your smile falls, you’re very obviously not taken by his actions. 

“Look,” he shrugs, voice lowering, “I didn’t wanna say anything cause I didn’t know how you’d react. But this location actually doesn’t accept money from women. I know, crazy right? So sexist. Its so gross of me to still go here when it’s totally against all my shit. But since they don’t accept any payments from women, I’m gonna have to pay or else we can’t get coffee.” 

You roll your eyes but can’t hold back your laugh, “Fuck, why do you have to be funny about it?” 

“You think I’m funny, huh?” he grins, pulling up to the microphone box. 

“Yeah, funny lookin’,” you tease. Eddie ‘tsks’ a few times with a shake of his head, looking back at you. 

“What can I get you?” he asks again. 

“Medium, iced, caramel. Almond milk if they have it, regular if not,” you respond, crossing your arms. He orders and can feel your eyes on him, he wants to turn back around and kiss that pout right off your lips. You’re not used to having someone take care of things and he can tell, you don’t like it either. Or at least you don’t know how to let yourself like it. Two givers stuck in a car running errands with each other – he wonders if you’ve ever known how to take. 

He gets the coffees, yours with your milk and flavor, his iced and black. You say thank you when you take it, there’s something about your face when you do, a softness he feels like he’s not supposed to see. 

“Hey, you know my rule,” he says, leaning in again, “You’re startin’ to look at little too good right now.” 

Your embarrassed smile says enough when you close the gap between the two of you, lips pressing together in a soft and gentle peck. 

“Thank you,” he expresses, big brown eyes looking into yours before pulling back onto the streets. He turns the sound system up again, the opening of Cam’ron’s Hey Ma flows through the speakers, he nods enthusiastically. 

“Another banger,” he exclaims. 

“You know this song?” you ask with surprise. 

“I grew up in a trailer park, baby. You hear a lot of different music out there,” he shrugs. Eddie feels his throat choke up when he realizes he called you baby. But at least if you hated it, you weren’t showing any sign that you did. 

“Got drops. Got coupes. Got trucks. Got jeeps. Alright, 'cause we gon' take a ride tonight So ma. Wassup? Let's slide. Alright. Alright, and we gon' get it on tonight.” He likes that you’re impressed that he knows the words, of course he does. He grew up hearing this song all of summer 2002, running through the hose with the little kids, while his old baby sitters sat out in lawn chairs to work on their color. Playboy Bunny stickers on their hip bones to show off their tan lines. 

You both sing the opening verse to the windshield, windows coming down an inch as you turn onto the parkway, voices booming over Juelz Sanatana’s. 

“Now I was down town clubbin’, ladies night, Seen shorty she was crazy right, And I approached baby like, ‘Ma, what’s your age and type?’ She looked at me and said, ‘Yous a baby right?’” He hits the last red light before the long stretch of the drive, turning to you to deliver a passionate line reading of the lyrics. He’s surprisingly smooth, even impressing himself at how actually cool he’s being about it. 

“I told her, I’m eighteen and live a crazy life, Plus I’ll tell you what the 80s like, and I know what the ladies like, Need a man that’s polite, listens and takes advice. I can be all three, plus I can lay the pipe. Come with me, come stay the night.” 

He winks when he finishes the line and by the way you stop singing, he knows he’s got you flustered. You are easy. He wants to see how much easier it is. 

“You better be careful,” you warn, tongue caught between your teeth. “Yeah? I better be careful?” he grins, car pushing forward when the light changes so he can turn onto the highway. 

“You’re trouble, Munson,” you shake your head, turning your attention back to the stretch of asphalt ahead of the both of you, “You’re big trouble.” 

“She looked at me laughin’ like, ‘Boy your game is tight.’ I’m laughin’ back like, ‘Sure, you’re right.’” 

“D’you need a cart?” Eddie asks, taking a side step over to the push carts neatly pushed into each other in between the double doors of Target. 

“Nah, if I get a cart I’m just gonna use it as an excuse to buy more stuff,” you pull a face, shoulders dropping dramatically, “And while I’d love to have an excuse to buy more stuff, I just need a basket.” “Basket it is,” he grins, hand wrapping over the hard plastic of one of the handles, tugging a basket loose from where it’s encased with its brothers. You reach your hand out, taking a step closer to the entrance, our step triggers the automatic doors and he files in after you. 

He looks at your outstretched hand behind you and then up at your face, “I can hold it, Ed.” 

He gives you a small shake of his head, “Nah, I’ll carry it. You lead the way. What’s on your list?”  “I mostly just need to get travel stuff…like toiletries,” you think out loud, “I guess this wasn’t really much of a big errand now that I think about it.” 

“That’s okay,” he says, and he means it. 

You don’t go straight to the beauty section. You’re taken by the $5 and under shelves at the front of the store, full of small decor knick knacks that he recognizes from his own apartment. This is where Tati’s always picking up those little gold tchotchkes for the coffee table and bookshelves every other month. The same way Chrissy would always have new, tiny holiday themed pieces every year to sneak onto their mantle.

“So, do you want me to keep you on task?” he asks, falling in step next to you, watching your fingers toy over a felted bunny figurine for Easter, “Or do you want me to aid in you not being on task?” 

You look over at him, eyes scanning over his frame. He catches the way your eyes linger on the way his t-shirt fits him under his leather jacket and denim vest. Dark olive green, a touch too tight in the chest, collar worn out just enough so that the ends of his collar bones peeked through. 

“We have all day, right?” you smirk. 

“All day,” he nods, “You a walking through the aisles type of girl?” 

“Is that a deal breaker?” you ask, attention captivated by a lavender ceramic pencil holder in the shape of a rainbow. 

“No, not at all,” he assures, taking you by surprise when he presses a kiss to your temple, “I’m a walking through the aisles type of guy.” 

“Was I looking a little too good while perusing the five dollar shelf?” you tease while you move onward into the store, stopping to thumb through a rack of jeans.

“Well that’s the thing,” he says with a tilt of his head, “You’re always lookin’ a little too good.” 

He hums when you roll your eyes, “Hmm. How’d I know that was coming?” 

“Why’re you so nice to me all the time, huh?” you fake argue, bored with looking at clothes and taking deliberate steps towards home goods to the bath section. Eddie hurries to keep up, basket clicking and clacking in his hand. 

“I guess I can be mean to you, but I feel like that would make me a shitty date,” he jokes back, “And an even worse Uber driver.” 

“So true, actually. Zero stars,” you nod, running your hand over a towel that matches the color of his shirt, “Y’know green’s a really good color for you? Makes your eyes pop.” 

“Oh…” he can feel himself turning red when you say that. So she’s been looking at my eyes? Is she always secretly sort of checking me out the way I’m always secretly sort of checking her out? Does she think I’m cute or something? Why am I trying to propose to her right now? Is it ‘cause we’re looking at towels? 

“Um, thank you. I’ll um, I’ll wear it more often,” he runs a hand over his face while you continue to look at towels, turning the corner to look at the fancier ones. You laugh at his jittery response, not so much at him, not teasing, but – this guy covered in tattoos, stomping in combat boots, definitely has a knife in his back pocket, chains dangling down the side of his pants, is blushing bright red just because you said he looks good in green. This guy? 

“You should,” you encourage, turning to see his reddened face, “What happened to not being nervous?” 

“That’s a rule for you,” he says, walking a few steps ahead of you. His eyes catch on a soap dispenser, it’s the same one he had in the master bathroom back with Chris, “I can be as nervous as I want.” 

“Ah, I see, rules for thee, not for me,” you nod slowly. 

“See! Now you’re getting it,” he says over his shoulder. He reaches his free hand back toward you, eyes meeting yours, tossing you a smile when you look at his hand and back at him, “Yeah, I want you to hold it.” 

When your fingers slide in to lace with his he realizes his hands are a little sweaty. They weren’t last time you saw him, with your hand cradled in between his on his knee at the bar. He was a couple drinks in then, not forced to face the action fully. Not aware enough to realize he was holding a pretty girl’s hand in public on a domestic date and all he can think about is railing you in the backseat of his Honda Civic and also making a mental note of all the color choices you like so when you eventually move in together he already knows what you — Jesus fucking Christ you have soft hands. You guide him through the rest of the bathroom section, stopping briefly to consider whether or not you need more hand towels for your apartment and then shaking it off. He let’s you take him around the corner to mattress covers, you talk about your Casper mattress and how you still aren’t sure if you really like it two years later. He hears himself respond in a fog but he’s caught up on how right it feels to be here with you, to be holding your hand, holding your Target basket for you, listening to you talk about whatever. 

You get to bedding and stop at the throws, Eddie’s fog lifts when you let go of his hand to take one of them off the shelf. A dark green knitted blanket replaces his hand, folded up neat and tidy in its wrap-around casing. 

“This is so perfect for my living room,” you murmur to yourself, “It’s so cute.” 

Eddie leans against the shelf while you let your senses absorb the knit: touch, sight, smell. You peer at the other colors, unhappy with the rest, balancing the blanket on your hip while you look back at the empty spot where it once sat. Your eyes roll again, shoulders slumping for real this time.

“Not seventy five dollars cute,” you grumble, putting the blanket back on the shelf. 

“Seventy five dollars?” he asks, aghast, brown eyes rounding in surprise, “What, did they shear the sheep here or something?” 

“That’s capitalism for ya,” you click your tongue, giving the blanket one last look with a little pout, “Oh well, I’m sure I can find a dupe or something at TJ Maxx.” 

“M’sorry, sweetheart,” he consoles, taking your hand back and giving it an apologetic squeeze. 

“Sweetheart…” you repeat back, “That’s cute.” 

“That’s cute? Okay,” he smiles down at the tile under his feet, teeth showing, “I’ll keep note of that.” 

You both continue your journey through bedding, crossing through the Hearth & Hand showcase where he listens to you gripe about how you swear it’s a scam. None of this shit should be this expensive. Like, I could get all this shit at H&M Home online for twenty dollars less. What, just cause they’re on TV? Frickin’ ridiculous. He still stands by thinking that you’re cute when you’re mad. He can’t let go of your hand. He doesn’t even care that you’re both so far from travel toiletries, that you likely forgot why you were even here. He just likes this, being in Target with you, holding your hand while you yell about something. 

“Oh, hold on, I gotta look at these,” you squeeze his hand before you let go again, walking ahead of him while Matchbox Twenty’s 3AM fades into Des’ree’s You Gotta Be. 

“Decorative wicker baskets?” he asks, stepping back to look at the wall of wicker baskets of all sizes in the back of the store. 

“I need two for under my dresser,” you say, reaching up to grab one and looking at the tag for the dimensions, “S’for my socks and stuff.” 

He tosses you a look and you look back at him, “Don’t ask.” 

You get lost in the task, two stepping with a little sway to your hips, small movements. You sing along to the song while you pull one basket down and put it back, and so on. You gotta be cool, you gotta be calm, you gotta stay together. You aren’t mocking him when you sing along but the lyrics feel like they are. You’re so into it, too. He guesses this is what you’re like when no one’s around to watch you. How unfortunate that you’re so kissable even when you think no one is around to see it. 

“Hey,” he says, putting the basket down, “What did I say about looking too good?” 

“What?” you turn around, eyes rounded, almost startled, “Am I taking too long?”

“No,” he says with a furrow of his brow, approaching you gently while he crosses into your personal space. His voice drops a little lower, lips lingering close to yours, “No baby, not at all. Just looking really cute over here.” 

You can’t help but feel girlish when he’s like this, giggling while heat floods your cheeks and chest. 

“C’mere,” he whispers, pressing you back with his body so you’re flush with the shelves against the wall. His nose brushes yours, fingers finding your chin to tilt you up toward him where his mouth can taste you and you can taste him. He starts slow, just a test, shrouded in the lower light of the back decorative basket aisle, lips parting slightly to see if you’ll match it. He puffs a small breath against the ridge of your upper lip and it’s enough to send you into a frenzy. His body presses close up against you, kiss gaining fervor, hands coming up to cup around your cheek and neck to guide you with him

“Wait, wait,” you gasp, breaking away, “We’re gonna get in trouble.” 

“You think I’m scared of getting in trouble?” he clicks his tongue before grinning at you. Looks like you don’t do trouble. His lips ghost over yours, skating softly over your cheek to get to your ear, “I’ve been gettin’ kicked out of Targets since 2007, sweetheart.” 

His teeth graze your ear lobe, your hands reaching to clutch the soft leather of his jacket, a small sigh puffs out of you. He’s not sure if it’s pushing it, but the aisle is empty, and whatever he’s doing, he’s pretty sure you like it – his lips drop from your earlobe to the edge of your jaw, settling on a slow, wet open mouth kiss on your neck before meeting your mouth again. 

“Ed,” you mumble quietly, “I can’t be turned on at Target.” 

“Yes you can,” he giggles, stealing another gentle kiss from you. 

“Uh…hey folks,” a timid voice calls from the end of the aisle. You both break away, embarrassment clearly taking you over while you cover your face in your hands. A younger guy in a red t-shirt and khaki slacks waves awkwardly when he has both of your attention. 

“Sorry to uh, to interrupt but, um – y’know, this is a family friendly store and we just – yeah, I’m sorry. You’re not in trouble or anything,” he offers, stumbling over his words. 

“Thanks man,” Eddie says genuinely, giving him a wave back, “Sorry about that, just uh, caught up in the moment I guess. Baskets really do it for her, y’know?” 

The guy nods, walking away when a small thwap of the back of your hand hits his chest. 

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you laugh, changing your voice to mock him, “Baskets really do it for her. Fuck all the way off.” 

Eddie laughs with you, picking up the Target basket and placing it in your hand, “Look, I gotta pee so bad. Do you think you can man the aisles yourself while I go and take care of that?” 

You nod, “Just text me when you’re done and I’ll tell you where I am, okay?” 

“Cool,” he nods back, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek, “See you in a bit.” 

hey, where are you at?easter stuff, i got distracted very godly of you

He bustles through the aisles, realizing now that you’re on the totally opposite side of the store than you were before. He spots you where all the candy is, your basket full of your toiletries.  “Easter candy?” he asks. 

“It’s the best holiday candy, easily,” you confess, “I know people will probably say Halloween since that’s the candy holiday, but dude, there’s something about Cadbury eggs.” 

“Yeah?” he reaches out and takes the basket out of your hand gently, you don’t protest when he does, “Isn’t it supposed to be from the UK? Don’t they have better chocolate by proxy?” 

“I think so,” you agree while Eddie strolls a little further down the aisle, “Have you ever had them?” 

“I’m sure I have,” he says, fingers tracing over a chocolate bunny in a box, “I guess I’m more of a Halloween guy.” 

“Boring,” you sing, holding two small bags of Cadbury eggs in your hands. Eddie holds the basket in front of him while you gear up to toss one in. 

“Kobe!” you shout, the candy leaving your fingers in a lay up toss, floating through the air only to fall at Eddie’s feet on the tile. 

“Too soon,” Eddie shakes his head solemnly, reaching down to grab the chocolate and put it in the red basket in his arm, “How’re you gonna call out a legend’s name and then miss?” 

“I feel like you moved it so that I’d miss,” you accuse playfully. 

“I kept it exactly where it was, I think you’re just not very good at basketball,” he says, making his way towards you. You put the other bag in with the rest of your stuff and look up at him through half lidded eyes. He matches your gaze while he looks at you. 

“You just don’t wanna see me be great,” you tease. 

“Oh, stop,” he tutts, “You’re very great.” 

Neither of you can help but kiss again. It feels natural to do it at this point. 

“You get everything you need to get?” he asks against your lips. You nod, a little ‘mhm’ squeaks out of your throat, “Good, cause they can’t yell at us for making out in the parking lot. So we should head out of here soon.” 

The remainder of the errands and lunch go by like a blur to him. Saturday meant busy restaurants so instead you opted for fast food in the parking lot, starting the drive home sharing Wendy’s waffle fries over the center console. 

Before you pull out of the lot, he flicks your music on again, opting to just leave it on shuffle because he feels like he learns you better that way. What’s going to come up next that’ll surprise him? What’s he gonna find out about you? 

‘Baby, I know you’re hurting, Right now you feel like you could never love again. Now all I ask, is for a chance, to prove, That I love you.’ 

Eddie barks out a laugh, takes a sip of his Sprite, and then laughs again, “Oh shit. I haven’t heard this song in years!”

“You know this song, too?” you ask, surprised again at his music repertoire. 

“You really don’t think I’m cultured, do you?” he jokes, “I have a deep affinity for the Backstreet Boys, though I will admit I was an NSYNC boy myself growing up.”

“Of course,” you murmur with an eye roll, “What’s your favorite NSYNC song?” 

“Ooh, let me see,” he thinks while he turns onto the highway, “Definitely Drive Myself Crazy. I’d always try to hit JC’s runs.”

“You knew their names too?” 

“I told you already, I grew up in a trailer park. I had the same babysitter from two to eleven,” he explains, “Mrs. Grandy watched me until her daughter Summer turned thirteen and then I’d go and pal around with her and her friends. I was like her little brother, I practically lived there.” 

“Were you always there?” you ask, “At your babysitter’s house?” 

“Yeah. My uh, my mom died when I was seven but she was always working and tryna stay out of the house when my dad came home so I was always at the sitters. He’s y’know – he’s in jail but he was in and out of it when I was a kid, too. Got arrested for beating on her a couple months before she died and my uncle moved up from North Carolina to take care of me. But he worked nights so – if I wasn’t at school I had to have someone watch me while he slept and then someone had to be at the trailer while I slept. It was way easier when I was in school – but anyway – wow – off topic there – yes, I spent a lot of time with my babysitter and her mom,” he finishes.  

“I’m sorry,” you offer, reaching over to give his knee a reassuring squeeze. 

“No, don’t be. It’s okay. I’m okay – I turned out pretty cool, I think,” he shrugs.

“You’re really cool,” you smile, Eddie smiles back. 

“What’s your favorite Backstreet Boys song?” he asks. 

“Hey Mr. DJ, easy,” you tell him, “It’s the most fucknasty song they’ve ever made and it still holds up. Like, I want it played at my wedding. I’m trying to make a child to that song.” 

Eddie loses it at fucknasty, head falling back on the headrest while his chest bounces, “The most fucknasty song? We’ll have to play that next.” 

“You won’t be disappointed,” you say, “AJ sings it and he was my favorite.” 

“Oh, baby, that does not surprise me at all,” he grins. Calling you baby sounds comfortable now, even after just talking for a week. He’s not sure how fast or slow these things are supposed to go, but your little smile every time he says it makes him wanna say it more. 

“I saw them in concert, when I was like, nine or ten or something,” Eddie says, “For their Millenium Tour – was when I Want It That Way was huge.” 

“You got tickets?” you ask, a teasing grin splitting your face. 

“Summer was a huge Backstreet Boys and NYSNC fan, like, posters all over her room. Had every magazine they were in that she could find, everything. So all we would do when she would watch me was listen to them and talk about them, so I liked them because she liked them and I thought she was cool,” he starts. 

“So anyway, she finds out on the radio that they’re giving away tickets to a show in Columbus – cause like, no one fucking comes to Indiana to play shows – and she calls in and wins! She literally went into shock. But we ended up going and she brought me instead of her friend because she was like ‘Mom, he’s family’. Which as an adult, makes me fucking melt y’know? But as a kid I was like ‘Damn you’re gonna drag me to Ohio to see a boy band? I wanna see Tool.’”

“Not Tool!” you laugh.  

“But it was cool cause we got to stay in a hotel for a night and all that other shit. It felt really special, her mom got us t-shirts which I’m sure cost her a fortune but – damn. I had a lot of fun.” 

“It sounds like you did.”

“The most crazy thing though – which I’ve never told anyone so, I hope you feel special – was when I saw them perform, I thought like, ‘Wow, I wanna do this when I grow up.’ So in a way, if it wasn’t for the Backstreet Boys, I would’ve never realized I wanted to be a rockstar,” he confesses, “And I mean, obviously I was really into rock, and metal, and folk-punk stuff ‘cause of Wayne, but seeing those guys on stage? Everyone screaming? I was like ‘Damn, I wanna be up there! I wanna be shredding up there!’” 

“I love that,” you reply, a warm smile spread across your face while you watch him relive the memory in his head. 

He shrugs, “It was a cool dream to have but, I don’t know. That ship has long sailed.” 

“What do you mean? Long sailed? You can still be a rockstar,” you argue, a fry crunching soft between your teeth. 

He shakes his head, slight defeat caressing his tone, “No I can’t. I’m too old now.” 

“Too old? Shut up,” you assert through a mouthful of waffle fry, “Metallica’s still out there playing. Iron Maiden is literally on tour right now. And they’re all like – in their sixties for fuck’s sake.” 

“Okay?” he huffs back, the red from the hazard lights of the car in front of you flashes against his face, “And? They all got famous when they were like, twenty or younger. I’m fucking…thirty-two.” 

“Exactly! You’re only thirty-two,” you exclaim while he rolls to a stop at a red light. Your hand reaches out to squeeze his arm, “You have so much time. You can literally be a rockstar whenever.” 

Eddie’s chest gets tight when you say that – it had been a while since he heard that type of encouragement. He’d missed the feeling of someone cheering him on from the bar while he was on stage, Chrissy’s praise when they’d get home. Wayne calling to tell him he saw a review of their set in the paper. Lately the shows felt sad to him, he felt lonely, even though he was always the happiest when he could make it on that stage. 

“You can’t be saying shit like that to me,” he says knowingly, maneuvering his arm so that he can take your hand in his. 

“Why not?” you ask, your voice holding a hint of sullenness that breaks his heart. He kisses your knuckles before resting his and your hand on your thigh, the light changing to green. 

“‘Cause you’re gonna make me fall in love with you.” Your eyes cast down at his hand on your thigh, your smile tight, stretching painfully across your cheeks, “Oh, okay. I’ll be meaner if that’s not what you’re going for.” 

“It’s definitely what I’m going for,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand softly. 

The mood in the car shifts to comfortable silence, I’ll Never Break Your Heart fading out into the opening croons of Leon Bridges’ Coming Home. You lean your head on the window, looking at the cars passing you on the highway, the light flecks of rain hitting the glass as the car keeps its speed. Eddie lets go of your hand, palm stretching over the mass of your thigh, running soothingly up and down on your leggings. His thumb rubs soft and slow over the outside of your quad, he just wants to touch you. It’s a comforting touch, no implications other than – I like being here with you right now. 

‘The world leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, girl. You're the only one that I want, Wanna be around. Wanna be around, girl, Wanna be around, girl, Ooh, wanna be around, girl...’

“I like this,” Eddie says, his voice soft, “Who is this?” 

“Leon Bridges,” you answer, “The whole album is so good. It honestly sounds even better on vinyl.” 

“I was just about to say, I bet it sounds great on vinyl,” he enthuses, “I like the old timey vibe.” 

“It’s cozy, right?” you ask. 

“Very cozy,” he nods, tossing a look over to you. Your eyes are heavy lidded, breath steady in your chest,  “You gettin’ sleepy?” 

“Kinda,” you yawn, “You’re not boring me or anything, I promise.” 

“That’s okay,” he offers you a soft pat on the thigh, returning back to the slow back and forth that was putting you to sleep, “We’ll be home soon-ish, just take a nap.” 

You frown, “You sure? Am I being lame?” 

“Nah, you’re not being lame,” he assures. Your eyes flutter closed, the warm cascade of his hand continues while they do. 

After a long stretch of highway, Eddie turns the car into your part of town, a sadness washing over him that he has to drop you off and then go home to his apartment for the remainder of this rainy evening. For a flicker of a moment he wants to be selfish and ask if you wanna just kick it at his house, but he knows you have stuff to do before this trip. Envy seeps into his sadness that your boss gets to spend so much time with you, gets to watch you laugh, gets to watch you solve problems, gets to watch you do anything all day. Is it healthy to feel like this so quickly? I don’t know her like that, he wonders, Is it that sort of thing where like, if you know you know? Or am I being kind of insane right now? 

“What’d I miss?” you ask, rising from your mini-nap in the car. You frown when you see your surroundings, so much closer to home than you hoped. 

“A few showtunes and Mariah’s Vision of Love,” he says, your sleepy voice tugging on his heart and lips, “I’m partial to My All but that’s cause I’m a professional sad boy.” 

“My All is on there, but it’s probably good I was out for Vision of Love – you didn’t have to hear me screlting it in the small confines of this car,” you laugh.

“Do you sing?” he asks. You shake your head no. 

“I did musicals in high school, as you can see by the showtunes,” you explain, “But I wouldn’t call myself much of a singer.” 

“I’m sure I’ll find out if that’s true sooner or later,” he offers. It’s part way through Good Charlotte’s Girls & Boys, volume low so he didn’t disturb you sleeping. 

“This song makes me laugh,” you say, he feels your hand find his, still sitting firm on your lap. You play with his rings, twirling them around his fingers, he swallows hard. 

“Like, so many songs that came out around this time, even a couple years after – now they just sound like women’s empowerment.” 

“Tell me more,” he says, turning onto your street, the ache creeping back up again. 

“Like, ‘Girls don’t like boys, girls like cars and money.’ Is that supposed to be a dig? Of course I like cars and money – I’m a person. ‘Paper or plastic, don’t matter, she’ll have it.’ Like it’s a bad thing! Sounds like she’s thriving, he’s paying for everything and she didn’t even ask him to, she’s just sitting there looking hot!” you continue, “Sounds like a dream to be honest!”

“Yeah!” he nods, mulling it over in his head, “Fuckin’ – good for her!” 

“I’m happy for her!” you laugh, he laughs with you. It’s nice to laugh so much with you, he likes that you’re sort of goofy in your own right. He pulls up to your house, pulling in to park in front of the walk way. Both of your laughs quiet down, you both look at the house through your window and the air in the car changes. 

“I don’t wanna go,” you frown, shoulders slumping, “I wanna keep hanging out.” 

“I know,” he says gently, “I wanna keep hanging out, too – but you got stuff you need to get ready for tomorrow.”

“I know,” you scrunch your nose, “So stupid.” 

“So stupid,” he agrees, “How dumb that you have to go to a really cool expo where the weather’s nice.” “Well when you put it like that,” you say with a tilt of your head and a smile. 

“Let me get your stuff out of the trunk,” he offers, getting out of the car into the smattering of rain. He pops the trunk and grabs your bags, coming over to your side to open your door for you. 

“Here,” he says, offering you your toiletries, Old Navy exchange (and a few other purchases), and a Sephora bag with definitely more than just your boss’s sunscreen in it. You thank him and lean in for a kiss but he grins, turning away from you to go back to the trunk, “Sorry, forgot a bag.” 

He reappears with the trunk closes, another Target bag in his hands that he passes to you. The weight reveals what it is before you look, but you peek to be sure, “Ed…”

“I didn’t really have to pee,” he confesses, “You just really liked it and you looked so sad when you put it back so, you know, I just wanted to do something nice.” 

“It’s really nice,” you smile, looking down at the green Casaluna blanket nestled in the bag, “I just don’t want to like…feel like I owe you something.” 

“No, no, no,” he hurriedly shakes his head, “Please don’t feel like that. This really was just like – it’s not like a power move or anything I’m not like that, I promise – I don’t want anything in return, seriously.” 

“Except maybe a picture when it’s all set up nice in your living room,” he grins. Your eye rolls make his heart flutter because so far, you always kiss him after you do it and this time is no exception. 

“I’ll see you when I come back,” you say, wincing as the rain starts to pick up. “You act like you’re going to war, sugar,” he teases, “Like you’re not gonna text me in five minutes.” 

“Ew, bye,” you scowl, giving him a peck before hustling up the walkway to find refuge on the covered porch. 

“Bye,” he calls out, bottom lip tucking between his teeth in the afterglow of another good date. He gets back in the car and waits for you to get in safely before driving away towards his own apartment. At a red light, his phone goes off, just five minutes since he’s pulled away. He opens his texts, a full belly laugh barking from his mouth.  it looks great in my living room. oh shit it’s only been five minutes. 😡 fuck you. 

By day two of your trip, Eddie was already homesick for you. Savoring every message you could send his way when you weren’t busy, but also trying his best not to text you back immediately so he didn’t seem needy. Or worse, desperate. He liked it the most when you’d send pictures: big pink quartz bathtubs, amethyst arm chairs, huge chunks of malachite that were the size of his hand. 

these would make cool dice for d&d, right? the coolest. you should buy that and then hand carve the dice for me. let me pull a grand out of my ass real quick so i can get to work on that. so needy.   oh, so you miss me? of course i do :) i miss you, too :) 

“So when’re we gonna meet your mystery girlfriend?” Robin asks, swirling her rum and coke with her straw, “Or does she go to a different school in Canada that we wouldn’t know about?” 

Steve snickers with Robin, two mean girls who always mean girl together. It was a Tuesday, which meant Robin and Steve would meet up for Happy Hour at a bar near Nancy’s office for the paper and then bother everyone else to come meet them until everyone showed up. The three sat at the corner of the bar, Steve in the center in his business casual. Patagonia vest over his blue button up, hair perfectly windswept with his sunglasses tucked into his t-shirt collar. Picture perfect finance bro with his mean lesbian guard dog to bark at any woman who might hurt his feelings. Eddie was convinced that if Robin wasn’t gay, they would’ve gotten married the day that they met. 

“Well she’s not my girlfriend yet, for one,” Eddie starts, defensively, “And if you wanna know if she’s real, here’s her Instagram.” 

He passes his phone to Robin who swipes through your photos with a nod, a smile pulling across her face, “Not bad at all, Munson.” 

“Let me see,” Steve demands with a slight whine, plucking the phone from her hand. He scrolls, a touch of a salacious smirk spreading across his face, “Oh, smash. Immediately smash.” Steve passes Eddie’s phone back to him on the table, screen open to a risque picture of you on the beach, “You didn’t fuck?” 

“Not yet, Harrington,” Eddie sighs, “I’ll be sure to let you know the moment I slip it in, okay?” 

“I’m just saying,” Steve shrugs, “I would’ve fucked her already.” 

“Yeah, we know loverboy,” Robin teases. Eddie’s shoulders tense a little because if Steve wanted you, he’d definitely be able to take you. He’s hot and charismatic, he has more money than he knows what to do with, and at the end of the day – Steve loves women. All kinds of women. Eddie swore Steve would leave college with a taste for thin blondes that were in his frat’s sister sorority but every night it was someone new. And every night, Steve Harrington got what Steve Harrington wanted. 

“Tell her to follow me,” Steve winks. 

“It’s the first thing I did when I met her, actually – told her to follow you,” Eddie jokes back. 

what’re you doing? happy hour with the group. well right now just rob and steve but everyone else is on the way. fun! i bought a new bathing suit at a vendor because i have bad impulse control. also look at these cool rocks. oh, sick – what kind are they? the vendor said they’re ocean jasper do you want one? will you get a matching one with me? also linger is playing at the bar right now and it’s…making me think about you? stupid as hell. absolutely will get us matching ones. i love that song. who said you could be this cute? pretty sure i did. steve says hi by the way, he’s ‘linger’ing over my shoulder. lmao you’re so corny “Is she gonna send you a picture of her in the bathing suit or not?” he asks impatiently. “She’s still working, man,” Eddie flips his phone over so the screen can’t be seen, “And even if she does, I’m not gonna show it to you.” “Yeah, don’t be such a perv Steve,” Robin sasses, “Get me another rum and coke instead.” 

After an hour, the rest of the group has made it and Eddie’s had three beers in a short span of time. Not enough alcohol to feel drunk, but enough alcohol that he keeps getting lost in the thought of your thighs on that barstool last week. The little overflow of your tummy in your jeans, your hips, what you might look like out of those jeans. What sounds you might’ve made if he went to your house after Target and he peeled those leggings off you. You’re busy and he’s bummed out about it only because he selfishly wishes you were here at happy hour instead of looking at cool rocks. “You look so sad right now,” Tatianna says from across the table the group has gathered round, “You miss your girl?” 

Eddie pouts dramatically, nodding, “I do.” “Guys this is the one, I’ve never seen him like this before,” Tatianna grins, “He’s down bad.” 

Tati reaches next to her to hold hands with Gareth giving it a squeeze, “Hinge is the truth, I’m telling you.” 

“I mean, you sure? He thought Chris was the one and look how that turned out,” Mike says from the other end. Everyone sighs and groans, whines of ‘C’mon Wheeler,’ sound out of a few of them. 

“When you know, you know, kid,” Gareth offers softly, “And I think Ed knows.” 

“When’re we gonna meet this girl who likes your nerdy ass?” Erica giggles next to him. “Exactly what I was saying earlier,” Steve adds. 

“I don’t think you need to meet her, Steve,” Dustin laughs, “Let him have something, for God’s sake.”  “Well,” Nancy starts, “I mean, Steve’s party at Barcade is next week. Might be a good sort of low stakes way to ease her in.” 

“That’s actually such a good idea,” Tatianna agrees. 

“But I have the jazz concert for my kids that night,” Eddie sulks. 

“Yeah but that ends at like, eight thirty,” she argues, “You should tell her to come. We’ll take care of her before you show up.”  “I’ll take realgood care of her, Munson,” Steve grins.

“Steve.”

Eddie’s head is down on his forearms so he doesn’t know how many people started scolding Harrington over his head. This was overwhelming again – this part. Eddie thought maybe all the fussing over starting to date would be the worst but now it’s every day that they ask about you. At least twice a day in the group chat – Your girl coming to D&D? How was your date last weekend? Is she with you right now? Tell her we all said hi. Are you gonna bring her to Tati’s art show?

He doesn’t have all the answers yet and he doesn’t know where you’re at either. Do you want to meet his friends? Would you even like them?

Everyone yelling at Steve is satisfying, but it would be cooler if you were here to see it.  

The following night he was up late grading papers he should’ve graded a week ago but he was too caught up in his personal life to care. Conversation with you had dwindled quickly last night as he spent more time at the bar and ended up planning the next campaign. You hadn’t reached out at all today and he felt too proud to be the one to text you first, a twinge of resentment plucking at his heart strings in his chest. Hollow loneliness drumming at his ribcage. 

The papers were graded, neatly stacked and put away in his bag for tomorrow, red pen capped and put back on his desk. Eddie groans as he stands up to stretch, peeling off his t-shirt and slipping off his sweatpants, tossing them haphazardly in the corner of the room by his hamper. He kicks off his socks, finally comfortable in his boxers and silver chain, before trudging down to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He comes back to a quiet buzz on his phone, screen glowing to life while he swipes it off his dresser. 

hey, sorry i was so MIA today. things got really busy and hectic, surprise zoom meeting with bloomingdale’s and then a second surprise offer call with bergdorf goodman and then a few vendors wanted to get dinner and schmooze. it’s no excuse honestly but i should’ve messaged you to let you know i was busy. i’m sorry, handsome :( thought about you all day if that helps 

Eddie’s heart leaps in his chest, cheeks already hurting from the smile splitting his face open. You thought about him all day. You thought about him all day. The same way he thinks about you all day. He climbs into bed, snuggling in under the covers with the glow of his phone illuminating his grinning face in the dark. 

don’t apologize, sweetheart, i know you’re busy. glad that your hectic day is over at least, now you can relax! thought about you all day, too. one of my kids kept trying to play juicy by doja cat on the sax at jazz practice, so you came to mind immediately. LMAO. i’ll take that as a compliment. what’re you doing up so late?  grading papers, but i’m done now. i’d ask why you’re up so late but it’s only nine thirty there. what’re you up to? trying this bathing suit on, finally. do you wanna see it?

“Do I wanna see it?” he murmurs, exasperated with an eye roll to no one, “Of course I wanna see it.” 

yeah, show me :) 

He waits with bated breath, trying his best to swipe out of the text conversation and do something else instead of counting the minutes until you reply. His heart hammers in his chest while he waits for the familiar buzz in his hand. 

And there you are, dark red spandex hugging you tight, cinching you in all the right places. His eyes linger on the high cut of the bottom, the way some of the pudge of your hips pokes out at the seams and he bites his lip. ‘Fuck,’ he mumbles quietly. Your thighs on full display for him, thick and begging for him to grab, you’re so fucking grabbable he can’t even stand it. 

jfc you know what you’re doing  whaaaaat? what do you mean?  ‘what do you meaaaannn 🤪’ you know what i mean.  do you not like it?  i like it a little too much  you wanna see it from the back? 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters into the darkness. He feels the blood rush to his pelvis like an army command, cock partially at attention while his hand palms delicately over his boxers. 

of course i do 

He gulps when the picture comes in, you posed like that on purpose. One ass cheek propped up on the bathroom counter, the other lifted and perky from your stance. The soft rolls of your back on display from how you’re turned to still have your pretty face in frame. He’d fucking wreck you. Lovingly, of course.

do you want me to hop on a flight or??how much are tickets to az? i’m about to come thru. you got enough blood in your brain to make that trip rn? lmao you know i don’t😏 sorry i’m all the way in a different state, i’d help take care of it. 

“Yeah?” he chokes out, palming turning to full slow strokes over the fabric, “You wanna take care of it for me?” 

yeah? you’d take care of it? only if you asked nicely :) 

“Fuck,” he whispers, tossing his phone down to reach for his side table drawer to reach for the tiny bottle of lube he kept there. He tugs down his boxers hastily, squirting some of the liquid in his palm before picking up the phone again with his clean hand. 

i’d ask very nicely. i’d even say please.  what a good boy. :) 

“M’such a good boy,” he huffs, hand wrapping tightly around the base of his cock and dragging upwards, “I’ll be so good for you.” 

would you want me to use my hands or my mouth? 

“Oh my fucking God,” he groans, brain short circuiting at the thought of you on your knees while he stands over you. Eyes looking up at him with a hand tangled up in your hair, desperately trying to not thrust deep into your throat while you go to work on him. He bites his lip while he fucks his fist, palm and fingers gliding in time with his foreskin, teasing his tip. A fire lights in his belly, cooking up thoughts in his head on how he’d want you first. 

i like the idea of keeping your mouth full oh you wanna shut me up? is that it? i don’t think it takes much. 

His head leans back on the wall behind his bed, eyes closing while his hips roll up to meet the speed of his hand, slower now to stave it off. 

“Yeah, suck it just like that…” he hums out, “Please more.” His brows pinch while he looks back at the picture you sent, your glossed lips gleaming back at him. They’d look so good around his cock, your eyes would look so good filled up with tears when you tried to deep throat him.

“T-take all of it,” he stammers out, unsure of his own dirty talk to himself. Would he actually say that? 

Bzz. Bzz.

oh yeah cause you’re soooo big 🙄

“Psh,” he hisses out with a roll of the eyes, hand lifting off his cock to type back. He guesses when it comes to you, he would say that. Just so you’d stop being such a brat. 

you’re gonna feel so stupid when you see it  you sound very confident because i am is it big? 

He looks down at himself confidently, laying fat and dense up his stomach, kicking up at the thought of you seeing it for the first time. Chrissy always gawked at it, despite how many times she’d seen it, it was always like she was seeing it for the first time. The girls he’d pull into the bathroom at The Hideout and other bars would whine at the sight. Both him and them slurring together about how they can make it fit. 

its big, sweetheart. but i think you can take it. i know i can take it. so sure of yourself tonight, huh? bet you wouldn’t be so cocky if you were here. so i could watch you jerk it in your bedroom? puhlease. 🙄i can tell by how you’re talking that you really like the idea of that. so you are jerking it in your bedroom? the same way i know you have your fingers between your pretty thighs

He doesn’t know that, but it was worth the shot. His mind reels, thinking of you barely changing out of your swimsuit into nothing to lay back on your hotel bed to touch yourself to him talking to you. He grunts when his hand wraps around his length again, fisting himself with more intention, thinking about your hips writhing in time with his. He wishes he knew how you sounded when you felt good, how you’ll sound when he makes you feel good. And god does he wanna make you feel good. 

🙈 stop yeah? i can stop. don’t actually, i’m just embarrassed 😩how come? cause i do have my fingers between my thighs 

“Fuuuuuck me,” he groans into a whimper. He shudders a gasp while his hips buck up to meet his hands thrusts, imagining you on top of him, under him, below him, above him. Mouth, hands, pussy, anything of yours bobbing over his cock. Wiping the images clean and starting over with you splayed out on the hotel bed again, trying to keep quiet so your boss won’t hear you through the hotel’s thin walls. 

does it feel good, sweetheart? it would feel better if you were doing it for me. can i call you?

“Can I call you?” he reads out loud, in a whisper, “Can I…call you…” 

absolutely. 

Your face pops up on his phone within the minute, phone buzzing rhythmically in his hands. His heart rate jerks alive, stomach dropping like he’s on a roller coaster while it continues to ring. 

He accepts, swallowing thickly as he does. 

“Hey there,” he murmurs. 

“Hi,” your voice is shaky on the other end, he holds back a moan. 

“Hi,” he says back to you, squeezing himself softly at the base again. 

“Do you wanna hear something embarrassing?” you laugh, following up with a soft needy sigh. 

“Always,” he swoons out, low and warm. 

“Your voice is so hot to me,” you giggle, “I don’t think I could finish if I didn’t hear it.” 

“Ah, there you go again, thinking your compliments to me are embarrassing,” he smirks. You sigh again and he lets out a heady breath while he strokes himself, teetering towards a climax. 

“Sorry,” you smile, and he can hear it in your voice, “You having a hot voice isn’t embarrassing. Me getting off to it is embarrassing.” 

He pauses, hearing your shallow breaths pick up, waiting for the right time to strike. His thumb trails over his tip to smear the precum oozing out of it over the head — his eyes roll back as he thinks about your tongue there instead. 

“S’not embarrassing,” his eyelids lower, settling deeper into his pillows. He groans low in his chest before speaking again, “You all wet for me, sugar?” 

“Yeah,” you whine to him. 

“Wish I could be there to take care of you,” he huffs, “I’d make you feel so good.”  

“How?” you ask breathily. 

He smirks, biting his lower lip, letting out a low laugh, “I’d take my time with you. Sounds like you get real needy.” 

“I’m not needy,” you protest. 

“Not needy, but calls me from the other side of the country to cum to my voice?” he argues playfully, “Oh yeah, not needy at all, baby.” 

You whine again, a few huffs of breath sound in the receiver. 

“You like that?” he asks lowly, “When I’m a little mean to you?” 

“Yeah…” 

“Fuck…” he whispers back, blood rushing to the tip, twitching while he works his hand up his shaft.

“Wait – are you actually jacking it right now?” you ask with a laugh. 

“Yeah,” he sighs back, “Are you surprised?” 

“How long have you been doing it?” 

“Since you sent me that picture with your whole ass out,” he confesses with a giggle, it just makes sense to him to answer honestly. 

“Is that how you wanna fuck me?” your voice is laced with depth and sex, his hips buck up at the sound, “From the back?” 

“Maybe not at first,” he starts, imagining he’s in the hotel with you, eyes locking on yours while you touch yourself. Meeting your pleading eyes with a salacious grin while he pumps his cock, climbing on top of the mattress. Climbing on top of you. 

“I’d probably want you on your back so I could see your pretty face,” he offers, “Watch you take it.” 

You sigh into the receiver again and he groans quietly while pleasure starts taking him over. 

“But if I’m being honest…” he starts again, voice lightly teasing. Your breaths pick up, and if he thinks he’s hearing right, you’re very wet. Just because of him, the way he’s talking to you. He shudders before regaining his composure, voice dropping dangerously low. 

“I can’t wait to get my mouth on that pussy,” he slurs out, drunk on the idea. 

“Mmm, fuck,” you mewl out. Okay Munson, maybe you still know how to do this shit. “Oh, you like the sound of that, huh?” he asks, a light raise to his voice, “You like thinking about me between your legs?” 

“Yes,” you huff through gritted teeth. He feels his orgasm creeping up on him quick, your little whines hitting his ear and gliding down his chest to his pelvis. Every soft puff of your breath feels like he’s the one making it punch out of you. 

“I know you’d take it so good, too. You’d get so messy for me,” he groans again when his palm grazes over the underside of his tip, cock leaking cum unceremoniously, sending shockwaves through his system, “Just like you are right now, hm?  Waiting for me to come over ‘n’ fuck you stupid?” “Please,” you whine into a growl, “Please fuck me stupid.” 

“Oh baby, I will,” he moans while he feels his balls tighten, closer and closer to the edge, hearing you pant and beg like that. Just for him. He grunts, breath huffing from his nose like a bull while his orgasm takes him over, cum shooting onto his belly in thick ropes, “F-fuck till you can’t fuckin – mmmf – can’t fuckin’ think.” “Oh! Oh my god, fuck. Fuck!” you cry out into the receiver. He grins, satisfied at that reaction, both of you taking deep breaths into your mics while you both come down. 

“Did you cum for me, sugar?” he drawls. 

“Mhm,” you squeak out. His grin doesn’t fade, it turns dirty, filthy, “Good girl.” 

“Don’t say that.” He can hear your embarrassed smile in your voice, it makes him laugh. He’s normally not like that, that’s not something he thinks he’s ever said in bed – at least not sober. 

“I won’t say it, I’m sorry. You don’t like that?” he asks thoughtfully. 

“I like it a lot and you’re too far away,” you say softly. 

“Poor thing,” he offers. 

“I am a poor thing!” you exclaim. You quiet down a little, both just listening to each other breathe on the other end, “I’m excited to see you again, when I come back.” 

“I’m excited to see you, too,” he smiles while he speaks softly into the receiver, “But lucky for me, I have these pictures of you to hold me over until then.” 

“Visual learner?” you tease. “Physical, too,” he counters. 

“You really are trouble,” you laugh, “And um – I don’t want you to think that like, the only reason I wanna see you is just to have sex or anything. I just really like spending time with you.” 

“I don’t think that at all,” he assures, “I really, really like spending time with you. I’m – and this is gonna sound super lame – but I’m excited to keep on getting to know you.” 

“Lamest thing I’ve ever heard,” you laugh, “But also, same. We can be lame together.” “Oh – uh, by the way,” Eddie’s voice reverts back to normal while a reminder jolts his body awake, “The group really wants to meet you and I know it’s gonna be the day after you get back and you might want to rest, but Steve’s birthday party is Friday if you wanna come. Totally understand if you’re gonna be too tired.” “Oh no, I’d love that!” he can hear you shifting on the mattress, likely getting ready for bed, “Steve’s the one whose Instagram request I shouldn’t accept, right?” Eddie laughs, “Right.”

You both talk for a little longer before he tells you it’s getting late and you should get some rest since you had such a long day. He doesn’t want to hang up, but you’re both too old to be doing the ‘falling asleep on the phone’ thing. Plus, he had to be up for work in five hours. 

Eddie slides into the seat on his Honda Civic and sighs – he’s tired. He doesn’t want to go to Steve’s party where everyone is gonna be loud and drunk by the time he gets there. He hates playing catch up, but you’re gonna be there so he’s doing his best to hype himself up before he starts the car. He cracks the Monster Energy sitting in his center console and chugs it, heaving a deep breath before starting the car. Mayhem’s Freezing Moon blares through his speakers and he nods to himself, Good, good, good. It would be a hype enough song to get him excited on the way there. He gives himself a once over in the rearview mirror, looking the same as he did when he freshened up in the teacher’s bathroom after the Jazz Club performed during the Spring Concert. His slim fit black slacks still kept their crease, his wallet chains still dangled from his pocket. Eddie took your advice and started wearing more green, a hunter short sleeved linen blend button up laid open and loose over a clean and expensive white t-shirt. If he didn’t know any better, he would say he looked hot. His hair was coiffed and coiled – he made sure to get a trim before you came back just to touch up the shag. His tattoos were the showiest you’d ever seen them and deeply moisturized, his silver chain and small rings were recently cleaned. 

He wants you to lose your mind when you see him, but when he walks into the bar he knows he already lost. There you are, standing at the bar with Nancy, Robin, Steve, and Dustin while they laugh with you at some story you’re telling. You’re all legs in your little black skirt with a cute cropped ‘ARIZONA’ sweatshirt cinching you in right at the waist. Your little white sneakers were shining purple in the black light of the bar, you probably wear these everywhere. 

“Eddie!” Dustin calls out, giving a big wave to call him towards the party. You whip around, beaming while he makes his way over, meeting him part way with a drink in your hand. He can smell your perfume immediately and he’s surprised he hasn’t already fallen to his knees. “Started without me, huh?” he asks, nodding to the drink in your hand. “I tried to get Steve a drink but he said it was a better gift for him to buy me one…or two,” you tell him sheepishly. Eddie catches Steve’s eyes over your shoulder when he pulls you in to say hello and shakes his head. Steve smirks, blowing him a kiss before mouthing, ‘Her ass? Insane.’ putting his hands out to show off the size of it. Eddie flips him off while he lets you go. 

“Everyone’s been really nice though,” you smile, giving him a once over, “You look really good.” 

“Thank you,” he says in your ear, kissing your cheek, “You look too good. Don’t think I can let you stick around here too long.” 

“S’kinda hot when you’re like that,” you grin sloppily, biting your lip. The tequila’s blurring the filter in your head a little, he can tell you’re just saying what comes to mind, eyes a little glassy. 

“Like what?” “A lil’ possessive,” you shrug. He tucks a knuckle under your chin, lifting your gaze toward him for a moment.  “Okay,” he smiles, leaning in to kiss you much more passionately than you expected. Your mouth is cold against his, tongue sliding in to taste the tequila on yours. He snakes one arm around your waist so that you’re chest to chest, both of you laughing against each other’s lips while Tati and the group whoop and holler over your makeout. He breaks away, looking down at you, eyes sparkling. 

“I missed you,” he says confidently. 

“I missed you,” you smile, pulling him tight against you. This was what he was waiting for. An ounce of clinginess so that he didn’t feel so insane for wanting to be close to you all the time. He leads you back over to the bar, hand on your lower back while you put yourself back in your little group. 

“What’re you having tonight, big boy?” Ed asks Steve, clapping him on the back in a brotherly hug. 

“Surprise me – you doing shots?” he asks. Eddie nods, getting the bartender’s attention when she makes his way over. 

“Can I get four shots of Jameson and then two for my buddy over here?” he asks, pointing at Steve with his thumb. The bartender nods, lining up the shot glasses and starting the pour. “I don’t really like Jameson,” you scrunch your nose. 

“Well baby, they’re all for me, so don’t worry about it,” he grins playfully, white teeth shining, “I’ll get you something else when you finish that drink.” 

You nod lazily, pulled into conversation with Robin while Steve and Eddie start taking their shots. The whiskey feels good hitting his throat, burning just enough to reinvigorate him for the rest of the night. He clicks his tongue when he downs them all, the scent of Tatianna’s vanilla perfume overtakes him before her hands cover his eyes from behind. 

“Guess who it is,” she laughs. 

“Someone who used my Warm Vanilla Sugar hand lotion today,” he answers, his fingers running over hers while he peels her hands away. He turns to her to pull her into a hug and then hugging Gareth behind her, already with their drinks in hand. 

“Look, it went with the fragrance I was wearing today. You used my curl cream again so – you can’t even be mad,” she shrugs, beckoning him over with her hand, “Come sit with us really quick.” 

Eddie turns to get your attention but Tatianna stops him, “She’s a big girl, she’s been doing fine on her own without you here, so far. Let her make friends.” Eddie pouts and Gareth pats him on the back after passing Tati’s drink to her, guiding him over to their booth close by the end of the bar. Eddie sits in the middle of the bench, looking like a kid who just got in trouble and is about to get a stern talking to by his parents. “So…” Eddie starts. 

“I really like her, dude,” Gareth grins, “Came in and immediately knew who we were, introduced herself, offered to get us a round. All around seems very much your vibe.” 

“And you, mom?” he asks, eyes lifting up through his lashes to look at Tatianna who has a smug grin on her face. 

“All I’m saying is that you should always be listening to me when I tell you to do something,” she shrugs, “‘Cause what if you had deleted the app that night? Would’ve never met the love of your life right there.” 

“Love of my life? You think?” he asks, eyes widening. “I know. Her energy is exactly what I thought it was gonna be,” Tatianna explains, gold rings in her twists flashing back the neon reflecting on them, “And you’ve been down bad for the past few weeks so I knew there had to be something about her that was really good.” 

“So you like her?” Eddie grins. 

“We love her,” Tatianna nods, “Consider her adopted.” 

“Steve loves her too, it looks like,” Eddie huffs, looking back over at the bar to see Steve showing you something on his phone, a little too close for comfort. 

“He’s behaving himself, don’t worry,” Dustin says while he slides in next to Eddie, “We all gave him a warning before she got here. Plus, he’s got two girls on his radar right now that he’s trying to take home if he doesn’t get too drunk – but y’know, we’re banking on the getting too drunk part.” 

“Always banking on the getting too drunk part,” Gareth laughs. 

The night continues on, people coming and going, getting up to dance, getting new drinks. He watches you blend in seamlessly, swaying with Tatianna at the bar while you wait for a rum and coke for you and water for him. He still has to drive home after all. 

“What do you know about this song?” Tatianna laughs while Victoria Monet’s Coastin’ booms over the speakers. You both walk back over, two stepping in time until Gareth pulls Tatianna in tight to him, rocking back and forth with each other and stealing kisses. 

Eddie watches you approach him while you lipsync the words playfully, hips swaying in in time with the beat. 

‘Think of the waaaays, The ways I wanna give you this ass, Just how you liiiiike, Feel like a Thursday how I’m throwin’ it back.’ “The ways you wanna give me this ass, huh?” he smirks, eyes flitting over you while he takes the water yor offer him. You keep up with your sway, pressing up close to him – you look up with a fake unamused quirk of your brow and he knows you’re about to say something bitchy that’ll make him fall for you even harder. “I don’t think you could handle it,” you flirt. 

“You know something?” he starts, putting his water on the table of the booth, catching you before you can sit down, “I think I can handle you just fine.” You burn at his words, a shy grin pulling at your lips when he sits down at the edge of the bench next to Nancy and across from Steve and Robin. It’s fun to flirt with you like this, right on the precipice of something a little dirty. He wants you so bad and if he knows women as well as he thinks he does, he knows you want him so bad, too.  He pats his thigh, encouraging you to sit on his lap. You hesitate at first but he nods encouragingly, a silent Please, it’s okay. You settle in, the table high enough that both sets of your thighs fit under the table. He takes a breath before letting his hands settle on your skin, imagining what it might be like when he gets to put his hands on all of it. 

Everyone banking on Steve getting too drunk to take someone home was right, him and Robin were already in their codependent best friend phase of the night where they only want to hang out with each other, hands cupped tight on the table. You’re talking to Robin about a game that’s like Sims but 8-bit – 

“It’s called Unpacking and it’s so cute, you basically unpack a house or a room and you learn more about the person’s story by unpacking their boxes – sort of like Sims but with actual feelings that you don’t have to make up,” you enthuse. 

“Is it on Steam?” she asks, “I’ll literally buy it right now.” 

“We’re partying, Rob, don’t play a dumb game,” Steve whines. 

“She’s not gonna play it right now, Steve,” Nancy chides, “She’s gonna play it later. Don’t worry, we all know tonight is about you.” 

Lucas comes over to the table looking aggravated, Max grinning next to him in a smile that Eddie knows too well. Lucas lost a bet and has to pay up, Eddie wonders what they bet on this time. 

“Why does your Dragon’s Lair score have to be so fucking high? Can you literally let anyone have anything?” Lucas huffs. 

“Don’t be so sad, Sinclair – you can always try to beat Red’s score,” Eddie shrugs, smirking smugly at the pair. 

“She’s 250 points behind you, and you’re both like, seven thousand points ahead of everyone else,” he huffs. 

“What’d’you owe her this time?” he asks. 

“I can’t even tell you out loud,” he sighs. Max cackles, offering her hand and leading him back over to the Party at the bar, fingers laced with each other while they talk. Eddie adjusts under you, groin shifting under your ass by accident but he savors how delicious it feels to have you on top of him like this. 

“Are there any other games in there that you have a high score on?” you ask, breath hitching slightly while his hands coast teasingly over your bare skin under the table. Your posture straightens when his fingers glide up your inner thigh, brushing his fingertips past the hem of your skirt. You like that, he thinks, your body language tells him all he needs to know to keep going. 

“The Dracula pinball machine,” he replies confidently. 

“I’m gonna go beat it,” you grin up at him. 

“Oh yeah?” he asks, hand sliding off your thigh when you get up to head to the arcade room,  “You even know how to play?” 

“You can show me,” you shrug. He doesn’t really have to show you, pinball is pretty self explanatory, but he doesn’t want to give up a chance to have you alone. He leads you to the machine, pointing out where you want the ball to hit for the best chance at extra points. The music on the sound system is loud and the machine’s music matches it so he has to get close to your ear to explain. 

“Do you think I don’t really know how to play or do you just wanna get close to me?” you ask, turning your head to look at him while he chin hooks over your shoulder. “You caught me,” he blushes, hand resting on your hip while he fills the gap between your back and his chest, “I’m sure you’re gonna do just fine.” 

And you do, in fact, you’re really fucking good at pinball and he’s almost mad about it. “Where did you learn to do this?” he asks after you rack up nearly three fourths of his high score in one go, the ball just narrowly missing the lever before sinking down to be propelled again. 

“Summers on the boardwalk in New Hampshire,” you grin, “My uncle lives over there so we go visit him every year. Played one pinball machine every summer – my high score still stands, like, eleven years later.” “That’s so hot to me, oh my god,” he laughs while you get the next ball rolling onto the board. You lean forward, hips jutting out against him while you really get into it, concentrating hard. Eddie’s breath hitches when you slowly move your hips against him, so slow that he’s not sure if you’re doing it on purpose or not.  Rihanna’s Work starts over the speakers and  that’s when he knows it’s on purpose. Your movement’s pick up a little, lost in the game and in the beat. You’re a good dancer and that makes his mind wander to other things you might be good at. Your fingers work quick on either side of the machine, lights flashes against both of your faces while you keep trying to win and he keeps trying to not pull your skirt up in the middle of Barcade. 

While the song continues, he stops paying attention to you playing, so caught up in how your waist winds and ass bounces against him that he doesn’t realize you aren’t even playing any more. His hips grind slowly back against you, one hand on your lower back, the other gripping your hip to keep you in position. This isn’t new territory for him, pulled into clubs by Tati and Gare, Robin and Steve, everyone else, from the moment things opened back up again in Indiana. When you look back at him he short circuits at first, but he knows you’re surprised he can dance like this. Maybe you forgot, but he does teach Music Theory – rhythm is kind of his whole thing. Of course he has it.  

Your hips roll, making your ass run painstakingly slow and firm over his hardening cock. A groan gets stuck in his throat, reaching out to your shoulder to pull you up right again with your back against his chest. 

“You like bein’ a tease?” he asks, voice deep and daunting. 

“Just getting you back for what you did under the table,” you say matter-of-factly, turning around to face him with your butt leaning against the machine, “You’re not the only one here who knows how to be a slut.” “Also, I beat you,” you grin. 

“Looks like you did,” he says, eyes passing yours to look at the new high score glowing on the outdated screen. 

“Do I win a prize?” 

“M’sure I can think of something,” he murmurs, lips pressing against yours while both of your eyes flutter closed. He takes your hand, leading you to the dark corner close by, both of you hidden by the now defunct change machine to press you up against the wall. “What do you think you deserve?” he purrs before catching your mouth in his again. His kiss is a little sloppy, a little needy, it’s the four shots of Jameson. Not too drunk to drive, but buzzed enough that he doesn’t care about his kissing technique, he just wants to taste you. “Oh, it’s like that?” you giggle mischievously, “I don’t think we can do what I think I deserve in a public place.” 

“Hmm, okay, not into exhibitionism I guess,” he huffs a laugh while his kisses trail to your neck, knee slotting between your legs where you eagerly press up against him. He feels one of your hands fall into his hair, making his assault on the crook of your neck more intense when you give it a slight pull. “Kiss me,” you whine softly. “M’sorry, sorry,” he smirks, meeting your lips again, “You just smell really good, I like being in there.” “You’re a really good –” Kiss. “Mmm--kisser.” “Thanks, sugar, you’re –” Kiss. “Not so bad your –” Kiss. “Mmm shit – yourself.”  He can barely think like this, so close to you but not close enough. Hands on your waist and hips to guide you against part of his thigh while a little whine pulls out of you. He can’t hold off much longer, feeling his pants grow unbearably tight. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he mumbles against your jaw, a satisfied smile blooms on his face when you roll your hips against his knee again. 

“You don’t wanna hear everyone drunkenly sing Steve happy – oh, mmm – happy birthday?” you pant out while he presses kisses at the curve of your jaw back to your mouth. His hand entwines with the hair at the nape of your neck, giving you a soft tug to keep your head in place. 

“The only thing I wanna hear right now,” he purrs in your ear, “Is what you sound like when I’m making you cum.” 

The ride home is quick, barely saying goodbyes while he pulled you through the crowds building at the bar and paid the tab. Gareth shot him a wink as they left, tossing you both a wave but neither of you could think of anything else except each other. 

He dropped his keys twice trying to get in the door of his first floor apartment, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” you smile, “Just breathe. I’m still gonna be here.” 

The door opens and he takes a millisecond to rip your coat off and kick off his shoes, instructing you to kick off your sneakers or Tati would likely emerge from the walls and kill you both for walking into the house with your outside shoes on. His lips immediately attach to yours. There’s no time to waste for him, pulling you over to the couch and plopping down with an excited puff of breath. “C’mere baby,” he beckons you over with two fingers, grinning up at you while you climb over his lap to straddle him. His kiss is searing, hands exploring you with abandon, all the ways he’s been thinking about touching you were now fair play. No one here to see either of you, no one around to interrupt. You can feel how hard he is under his dress pants, the material leaves little to the imagination. The gentle curve of it, its thickness, the length, all pressing up against you with every mutual roll of your hips. 

You choke out a whimper when it hits just right up against your clothed slit. Eddie looks up at you mischievously, greedily sucking on your neck for a moment before catching your gaze a little.

“That’s all it takes? Just pushing my hips up like that?” he purrs, rolling them up again slowly, “Is that what you want?”

“Uh-huh,” you breathe. He bites at the skin on your chest, not hard enough to hurt. He grips and grabs you but not hard enough to bruise. He’s testing the waters, seeing what you like and how you like it. His hands travel down past your hips, gripping the fat of your ass.

“Fuck, baby,” he moans into your mouth, exploring you more, his palms flattening against your skirt while it rides up, the curve of your cheeks warm in his hands. 

“Finally got to grab it the way you wanted to?” you tease between breaths. 

“Mhmm,” he groans, “Now I just gotta smack it around.” 

You take his lower lip between your teeth, making his cock twitch when you let it go to click back against his gums. 

“Ooh, you wanna spank me?” you laugh into your next kiss. His hand reaches up to pull at your waist, pushing you tighter up against him. His fingers graze between your legs from behind while your head falls back in a breathy gasp. 

“Do you want me to spank you?” he asks, brows raised inquisitively.  

“Maybe not tonight,” you shrug with a smirk, hips winding over him in a way that makes him really feel you. He growls when you do it, hands guiding your hips to do it again, “Maybe only when I’ve been bad.” 

“Jus’lemme know,” he grumbles, pupils taking over the brown in his eyes, “So I can  — mmm, shit — teach ya a lesson.” 

“Next time,” you huff into his next kiss. He manhandles you so that your back is to the cushions and throw pillows, switching your positions so that he’s on top.

“Next time,” he nods, pulling your sweatshirt off and dropping it to the floor, “But since you’re so good, it only makes sense that you get a reward, right?” 

“I did beat you at pinball, so…” you grin. He grins back, kissing your neck hungrily, slotting his knee between your legs like he did at the bar. 

“You did beat me at pinball,” he nods, a soft growl brewing in his chest when he feels you start to grind against him. Insatiable, he thinks, Greedy girl. But he doesn’t know if he can say that to you yet. He doesn’t know, all the way, what you like. He feels his heart hammer in his chest at the fear of realizing it – you aren’t Chrissy. What if he was only good because Chrissy thought so? What if he wasn’t actually – 

“Oh!” you squeak out, hand reaching out to grip his bicep. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling away from your neck to look at you, big brown eyes blown with nerves. 

“Y-yeah that’s just…where you’re kissing…that’s a spot for me,” you admit bashfully, unable to look at him. 

“Sweetheart,” he shakes his head with a knowing smirk, “Shouldn’t’ve told me that.” 

A kiss on the lips is his only consolation to you before he goes back to your neck, tongue trailing down to its last spot where he parks his teeth and lips. You like that. He hears you like it. And fucking God is it good to hear you like this, to hear you in person, moaning and whining in his ear just from kissing and sucking this spot on your neck. 

“Eddie…” you breathe, high pitched and desperate, hips still pressing against his knee for friction. He can’t help but go back to your lips, but before he does, he peeks to see the marks he left behind. 

Lips become neck, neck becomes chest, chest becomes stomach, stomach becomes hips, and before you know it he’s on his knees on the rug in front of you. Eddie’s eyes find yours when he’s kneeling between your legs, the center of your thighs looking him in the face. He places a kissing on the inside of your knee, gentle and soft. 

He opens his mouth to ask, but you nearly read his mind, tugging up the hem of your skirt over your thick thighs. He helps, pushing the fabric up over your hips and ass so he gets another chance to touch and feel you. Once he settles back down he takes a breath, smiling up at you while he readjusts your legs to open a little wider, mouth making contact with your skin soon after. His lips capture the fat of your inner thigh, traveling down in passionate kisses, like your skin is divinity that he’s found for the first time. 

“You’re so soft,” he whispers, lips ghosting over your underwear to reach the top of your other knee, planting a kiss there too. 

“Thank you,” you breathe out. He lets out a low, teasing giggle at the state of you, head lolling back on the couch while he kisses the inside of one thigh and runs his hand over the outside of the other. His kisses stop and he looks up at you from between your legs, big brown eyes begging you to let him in. A ringed finger teases over the gusset of your underwear, the way you bite your lip gives him the approval to keep going. His slides your panties off, run of the mill black cheeky cut cotton that he wished he could’ve stripped you down to. Just to see that ass swallowing them, to see the way they sat on the curves of your hips. 

“You nervous?” he asks with a smile while your legs close, your underwear placed on the floor next to your shirt.

“A little,” you giggle. 

“Don’t be nervous, baby,” he coos, hands cupping under your knees to spread your legs again, “Just gonna make you feel good.” 

He sighs when your legs open up for him, already wet and puffy, you’d been thinking about this all night. Eddie nips softly at your inner thigh again before he lets his lips linger over your folds. You squirm your hips closer to him, a whine leaking out of your mouth. 

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, “I won’t tease you, I’m sorry.” 

But he’s lying. Leaning in to get close, only to ghost a breath over your clit. Fingers sliding to your slick lips to separate them slightly for more access to you. He pauses, leaning back away from your pussy and looks up at you quizzically.

“Actually, should I put on Hey Mr. DJ to set the mood? Since it’s so fucknasty…” gesturing his thumb towards the sound system on the other side of the room. You let out a mix of a laugh and a groan while his kisses coast on your thighs again.

“You said you wouldn’t teaaaasssseeee-oh my God,” you moan out when his mouth meets your clit without warning, soft, slow sucks and licks. 

“You like that, sugar?” he asks, voice dropping down to a bassy gravel. 

You nod feverishly, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” 

“Mmm, don’t stop?” he asks, tongue gliding from your entrance to your clit. 

“Please,” you gasp, hand reaching out to run through his hair, bangs pushing back to reveal the soft lines of his forehead. 

“Well you’re asking so nice, seems a little mean to keep you waiting,” he coos, fingers replacing his mouth while he talks, “But I thought you liked it when I was a little mean.” 

“Don’t be mean, Ed,” you pout. 

“Okay, I won’t be mean,” he smiles, opening your legs a little wider. He’s confident about his skills here, Chris loved getting eaten out so he dedicated a lot of time to getting it right. It helped that he loved going down, watching his partner gasp and whine while he serves her on his knees. Feeling the tug on his hair when he’s doing it right, making her feel good. The press of her hand to push him closer to her when she’s getting close, giving it to her over and over again. 

“Oh fuck, Ed — oh my god, baby,” you mewl, hips grinding up against his mouth. He smirks into the next stripe of his tongue, latching onto your clit to suck softly while his fingers press against your entrance. His eyes gaze up at you, your own going glassy while you look down at him. 

“I like when you look at me like that,” he confesses quietly, mouth returning to its actions immediately. He keeps his eyes on you while his first finger pushes in, he groans at the feeling — snug, warm, wet. He drags out slowly, a high pitched moan escaping you when he pushes back in with little resistance. His head moves with his mouth, tongue laving over your clit, lips pursing over it when he feels your pulse over his finger. 

“You’re so good — fuck — you’re so good at this,” you sigh. The praise runs down his chest and along his spine, he moans gratefully into his next kiss against you. He stripes his tongue again, using his other hand to keep your lips spread for more access. Your thighs twitch while he goes back to soft deliberate sucking, alternating between that and gentle fluttering flicks from the tip of his tongue. 

“That’s good for you?” he mumbles. 

“You’re so good for me,” you whisper back, gripping his hair hard when he pushes his second finger in, “Just…unhm, just like that.” 

He keeps a steady pace with his fingers, evidence of his skill coating them while he does. He wants to drag this out a while, take his time with you like he said he would. He breaks his mouth away for a moment to really look at you, just in your bra and skirt. His heart skips a beat, breath caught in his throat. You’re so beautiful, he thinks. Too afraid to say it outloud. What if you don’t like that while you have sex? You said you like when he was a little mean, does that mean he should be mean all the time? 

“Earth to Ed…” he hears you say, your hand waving in his face. He looks back up at you, startled, “You okay? You stopped and sort of just…stared for a second.” 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” he laughs to himself, taking his fingers away to massage the inside of your thighs with both hands, “Just got caught up staring at you.” 

“Ew,” you giggle with a smile, “You think I’m pretty or somethin’?” 

Eddie leans up between your legs on the couch where you come down to meet him, noses inches apart, “Well I don’t wanna be too forward…” 

“You’re literally eating me out, you can’t get any more forward,” you both laugh at the ridiculousness of it. Of both being shaky and shy even this far into the game. 

“Like I was saying — I don’t wanna be too forward, but I think you’re honestly so beautiful,” he blushes bashfully, looking down so all you can see are his full lashes, “And I didn’t wanna be corny and say it while I’m like, neck deep in your pussy.”

“That’s very sweet, baby.” You run your hand through his hair, pushing back one side when he looks up at you again. Baby. He likes when you call him that. He likes when you call him baby. He’s excited for you to call him other names like pretty boy, and babe, and honey. He wants to hear ‘em all. He wants you to spend the night so he can make you breakfast in the morning — for like…ever. You kiss him and he shudders, cock jumping in his slacks for a hint of attention — but he has a job to finish. 

“You’re very sweet,” he says, nuzzling your nose before kissing your cheek, then your jawline, your neck, your chest, down and further down until he’s between your legs again — he doesn’t tease this time. He licks at your entrance, replacing his fingers with his tongue to lap up what you have for him. Your thighs tremble he trails back up, swirling his tongue over your clit when his fingers snugly sink back inside you. 

“Eddie…” 

“You gonna cum for me?” he asks, voice smokey and deep. He lets his fingers search inside you for your g-spot, grinning when he finds it. Your moan is loud when he massages it, hips pushing down into the couch cushions, head thrown back while you grind against him. 

“M’so close,” you huff, “That feels so good, please don’t stop. Don’tstopdon’tstop.” 

He grunts, feeling your thighs jump while he keeps up his pace. His tongue gets sloppy with it, wet and filthy, pooling spit out of his mouth in droves to mix with your slick. He fills you with a third finger, legs parting further again while you huff into the stretch. 

“Ooh, you can really take it, baby,” he encourages, “Look at you takin’ all these fingers.” He glides the flat of his tongue over you once before leaning back to watch you. The pads of his fingers press in slow circles against your g-spot again, smirking when your eyes roll back. 

“M’gonna cum…oh shit  — oh fuck Ed I’m g.. — ohfuck — fuckfuckfuck — mmm-ah!” Your hips jump, lifting off the couch, writhing to pull away while you feel your orgasm rush rapidly to its peak. 

“Thaaaat’s it,” he smiles, mouth returning home to its place latched over you. He holds your hips down with his free hand, eyes fluttering closed while he continues. A slight flit of his tongue right as he pumps his fingers in puts stars in your eyes, thighs snapping closed on either side of his head — exactly what he wanted.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” you chant with strained, shaking vocal chords, tears pricking your eyes. Eddie groans when he feels your walls clench down hard over his fingers, flooding over him down his hand. You hiss while he keeps going, fingers easing out of you but tongue licking up as much as he can while you come down in shivers. 

“You okay?” he asks, when your thighs release him. You reach for his hand, still covered in your juices and pull it toward you — but he knows your game. He knows you’re gonna lick it off and give him those eyes — so he pulls his wrist away, “Oh, no baby.”  

Eddie delicately puts his fingers in his mouth, eyes on yours with a glint of satisfaction, and gently sucks them clean instead. 

“I don’t like to waste it, sugar,” he croons, “I can make you something if you’re hungry.” 

His sexy act breaks when you roll your eyes at him, clearly flustered by his antics in your post orgasm glow. He snickers when he stands up, leaning down to peck you with your arousal still smeared on his mouth and chin. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” you pout. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he pouts back. A peck turns to a kiss, a kiss to something passionate. 

“Why don’t I go get cleaned up,” he starts, before catching you in another kiss.

“You should pee since that’s the smart thing to do before and after,” he presses a kiss to your neck.

“And then I’ll take you to bed,” he murmurs huskily, “How’s that?” 

“That’s really nice,” you rasp back, turning so that you’re nose to nose, “But I am a little hungry now that you said that.” 

“You’re funny,” he smiles, another kiss, “I’ll get us a snack and then I’ll take you to bed, is that better?” 

“Much better.”  

Eddie passes you your panties and shirt, and points out where the bathroom is down the hall. While you traipse along, he opens the fridge, taking out the tiramisu he got as dessert with his takeout last night but didn’t get around to eating. He slices the generous cut in half, gently placing it on two tea plates and grabbing two forks. 

“Do you like tiramisu?” he asks when he hears your socked feet pad into the kitchen. 

“I do. My mom’s is the best actually,” you brag. He turns around to see you, your bright smile, your refreshed face. 

“Will you still eat it if it’s not your mom’s?” he asks, offering you the plate. 

“Yes, of course,” you nod, taking both plates out of his hands and placing them on the table, “But first I gotta –” 

Eddie’s taken aback by the kiss, but you don’t notice. He’s swift at the pick up, matching your pace expertly and hoisting you up onto the counter with surprising ease. He grunts when you pull him forward between your legs by the belt loops because he knows you’re trying to fuck just as much as he is. 

“Baby…” he starts, regretfully breaking away, “Are you hungry or not?” 

You don’t answer at first, you just look at him and kiss him again. When you pull away, your gaze lingers. Fear coasts icily over his chest when you almost look forlorn. 

“Shit…” you whisper, shoulders drooping. 

“Wh-what? What is it?” he asks, hands getting clammy where they rest on your thighs.

“I…” you take a deep breath, it shakes when you exhale, “I really fucking like you.” 

He smiles, but he knows why this is your response, why you look like this, why your shoulders sulk — because he’s also there, “Does that make you scared?” 

You nod, but instead of going in to kiss you again he pulls you close, smooching your cheek before leaning your head on his shoulder. 

“It’s okay that you’re scared,” he murmurs, “But if it’s any consolation…”

“I really fucking like you, too.” 

When you kiss again, he’s overwhelmed. 

“Fuck the tiramisu,” you breathe, “Let’s just —.” 

“Mhm,” he breathes back, hoisting you off the counter, balancing you on his hips, “I fucking need you.” 

Jingle. Click. Creak. 

“HONEY, WE’RE HOME!” calls the voice of a sloshed Steve Harrington, from the front door, “Put your clothes on, sluts.” 

But it’s not just Steve, it’s the whole party — the group filing into the living room while you hurriedly slide down Eddie’s form. Tatianna and Gareth follow in after everyone gets their shoes off, laughing and joking with Robin and Dustin while they stumble through the door. They halt when they catch Eddie’s expression from the other room, a stare so cold it could freeze them both. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Gareth mouths, realizing with deep regret what they’ve interrupted. Tatianna makes her way over, making a face of pure guilt when she makes it into the kitchen. 

“So here’s the thing, my phone died and Steve was using Gareth’s phone to change the music and I forgot to text you,” she explains to the both of you, “I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s seriously okay,” you laugh, “Please don’t feel bad. It’s you and Gareth’s apartment, too.” 

“Are you mad at me?” Tati pouts at Eddie, who could not stay mad at Tati for even a second. 

He puffs a dramatic sigh, crossing his arms, “No, no, I’m not mad at you. It’s okay.” 

“Okay,” she smiles, opening her arms for a hug which he obliges without question, “Gare’s sorry too, but unfortunately he’s busy babysitting Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum with Nance.”  Eddie looks down at you when he lets go of Tatianna, reaching his hand out to rub your back, “She means Robin and Steve.” 

“I figured,” you smile. Tatianna makes her exit and you’re both alone in the kitchen again. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie offers, using the leverage of his hand on your back to pull you in close to him. 

“What, why? There’s nothing to be sorry for,” you furrow your brow, forearms leaning up the length of his chest. The opening bass of Dua Lipa’s One Kiss starts to thump from the soundsystem in the living room into the kitchen, along with Steve’s passionate This is my favorite fucking song, holy shit. 

“Everything got ruined,” he frowns, “I’m like, kind of embarrassed.” 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” you urge, pulling him a little closer to give him a reassuring kiss, “There’s always next time. I’m not goin’ anywhere.” 

“No?” he asks, leaning his forehead against yours, “You’re stayin’ right here?” 

“Well, until I have to go to home,” you shrug. The music gets a little louder and Eddie throws his disappointment to the wind. There is always next time. For now, he has you here in his kitchen, lips on yours, hands on your cheeks, the steady thump of the beat of his heart. And of course, Steve drunk crying to Robin in the living room – You’re literally my best fucking friend. You’re my best fucking friend Rob, I love you so much. 

—

HOUR TWELVE - 3:00 AM

One of you should have moved.

It could have been minutes, hours, decades later. The concept of time is completely lost on you as you focus on the weight of Eddie lying over you. He’s half draped across your back, bare chest sinking into your exposed skin, throwing the brunt of his weight in the sliver of cushion available to him beside you. His softening cock is still inside of you, the warmth of him is encasing you from the inside out. You match each deep inhale of his with your own, exhaling on the same silent beat. An unspoken moment of synchronicity, letting the weight of the decisions just made truly crawl beneath both of your skins. 

I hate you. 

Good, then this changes nothing.

You wondered if he tasted the sour of his lie in the heat of the moment. You wondered if it was just as metallic on his tongue as it had been on your own. 

One of you should have moved. But it takes the realization of your incapability to truly hate Eddie Munson as you should and the twitch of your body that follows to rouse Eddie. 

“Fuck,” he sighs out, finally pulling out, turning to fully fit his body onto the couch rather than on top of you. You dangle a leg and arm over the edge of the sofa, keeping your cheek pressed to rough fabric and your eyes turned from him as you bite your tongue. 

A million words you want to say in the clarity, all lost and slipping between your fingers with time. 

I lied. I don’t hate you. This meant everything. This changes everything. I don’t hate you. 

“Fuck is right,” you settle on murmuring instead. There’s nothing you can say now that can change what’s transpired. It’s over, it’s done with. Rather than staying stuck in the past still in your rearview mirror, you need to focus on the road laid out ahead of you two. 

The two of you lay like that for even longer than you had the previous position, shifting here and there until you both fit comfortably on the lumpy cushions. Side by side, almost spooning, but space left between you. You don’t think Eddie even realizes his hand is grazing soft circles over your thigh, moving on its own accord and sending shivers of comfort down your spine. 

Is the road ahead of you two even paved? 

“What now?” he suddenly asks, breaking the silence you two had been reveling in. You had been in your own head, and you wonder for a moment if he had been as well. You can’t find it in yourself to glance over your shoulder and look at him, to solve the mystery on your own, instead clinging to those grazes of his fingertips still skimming your thigh. 

With an exhausted sigh, you zero in your focus across the room, looking at the clock on the shelves, “I don’t know. It’s already three in the morning, so-”

“Oh, fuck.” 

“What?”

“It’s fucking three,” Eddie is shooting up from behind you quickly, “We never sent a fucking picture.” 

You understand his panic immediate, realization settling as he springs off of the couch, echoing his words with sincerity, “Oh, fuck.” 

In any other scenario, it would have been comical to see a nude Eddie panicked and rushing about his apartment living room. To see him disposing of the condom, to see him struggling to pull back on his sweats and t-shirt before he’s disappearing into his bathroom and emerging seconds later with a blushing face and a wet rag. 

He returns to you in an instant, murmuring the world’s softest apology before he swipes the cold cloth over your sore cunt, making you hiss out in surprise. 

“What the Hell-”

“I said I was sorry!” he defends, tossing the rag to the floor before he’s grabbing your clothes, his clothes technically, and handing them over to you, “Figured you’d want to be dressed before we send the photo.” 

“I-” you stare at the clothes with a contorted face, still trying to brush off the exhaustion that came with the sudden change in atmosphere. You hadn’t even gotten to maneuver the aftermath of it all, pilferage the rubble and bring up the possible path-not-yet-road that you two had to face going forward. 

What did this mean for you two now? What did this mean for the remaining twelve hours?

Nothing, you suppose. Maybe you don’t need to ask those questions, because Eddie already answered them for you. It changes nothing. 

“Thanks,” you numbly say and take the clothes from him. He grabs your phone off the floor as you shrug the clothing back on.

What the fuck were you expecting? 

It was a one time ordeal. It was just a quick fix to get it out of both your systems. Just because you were needy, because you were craving a conversation about it all, didn’t mean Eddie was. There was no difference here between what transpired between the two of you and some random hookup. No feelings, no strings attached. The only difference was the obligation to spend another twelve hours together, if your friends hadn’t already decided their altruistic grace periods had hit their limits. 

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie grumbles, looking over your plethora of notifications, “Fifty fucking texts. Seven missed calls. We’re fucked,” When you let out a sharp laugh, he looks up from the screen at you, furrowing his brows, “What’s so funny?”

“Can you imagine making it halfway only to fuck up because we were getting along too well?” you snort, unable to help yourself. Twelve hours. You two had managed what already felt impossible, only to screw it all up because you two couldn’t keep it in your pants. Maybe if you admitted that to your friends, they would let the bet continue. You can already imagine Robin’s yips of glee at the prospect. 

Eddie’s worrisome look begins to crack, the corners of his mouth twitching, “I… That would… suck.” 

His voice is wavering, barely able to keep it together and withhold his own amusement as you beckon for him to hand over the phone, both of you sitting back on the couch, thighs pressed together. 

“Suck is one way to put it,” you giggle, barely glancing at the missed notifications, “Seriously. We made it this far. And it’s not like we weren’t together… We were. A little too literally.” 

If this is the closest you two come to talking about it, you can handle that. 

Eddie finally barks out a laugh, “Yeah. Maybe we took the bet too literally.”

“Just a little bit,” you shimmy a shoulder against his, forcing all laughter and smiles and drowning out any worries that continued to persist in your chest. Now wasn’t the time. This was enough. You can handle it. 

Your phone lights up with a Facetime call, making both of you jump.

Robin.

“Oh, no,” you groan, eyes pinching shut. 

“It could be worse,” Eddie notes, leaning into your space. His side presses into yours and it makes you want to die, “At least it’s just Buckley.” 

You shake your head, ignoring the burn he ignites in you with every slight touch still, grumbling, “Right, it’s just Buckley.” 

The two of you had sex. It should be out of your system. There was no need to continue to feel goosebumps raise when his shoulder knocked yours, when his knee slotted up against yours. It has to be out of your system. 

You swipe your thumb to answer the call against your better judgment. 

“Oh my God, you two idiots are alive! I swear to God, we thought you two killed each other! I almost had to go across the hall and have Steve predial for the cops if you two didn’t answer, I-” 

Robin’s rambling begins without so much as a hello. She’s speaking a mile a minute, taking no breaks, no pauses, no breaths, as you stare blankly at the screen where she’s half hidden in the shadows of her dark room. 

“Jesus,” Eddie whispers, eyebrows raising. You watch him through the screen, afraid to turn your actual face towards him. You don’t trust yourself. It should be out of your system, but it isn’t. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone talk so fast-”

“Fuck off, Munson,” despite Eddie’s effort to keep his voice low, Robin picks up on his words mid-rant, “My point is, we were worried. Why didn’t you send your photo or answer any calls?”

“We forgot,” you supply lamely. You catch Eddie’s fight against a smirk as he coughs over the beginnings of a scoff, and immediately shoot your elbow that’s out of frame into his side. 

Robin narrows her eyes at the screen, “You just forgot? How? No offense, but I can’t see you two getting distracted, especially with each other. We’ve all been under the assumption you just… sit on opposite sides of the room, and pretend the other doesn’t exist.”

Eddie coughs again, followed by a grunt from another pierce of your elbow.

“Have you considered that we might have been sleeping?”

“You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping.”

“I’m so glad that you’re all-knowing, Buckley,” Eddie says as he composes himself, “Where would we be without a sleep expert?” 

You finally turn your head to glare at him face-to-face rather than through the screen, trying to warn him to back off. Robin could go hours in the ring with Eddie, and you weren’t exactly in the mood to listen to the two banter off each other. He meets your warning gaze with wide eyes, almost as innocent as a child caught in the act. You can’t even stay mad at him – the moment those autumn brown eyes meet yours, soft and gooey and terribly laced with tempting gold, you’ve melted for him. All your defenses fall. 

You need to talk about it. You need to know if he means it.

“What does that even mean?” You ask as you slowly turn your head away from Eddie, “What exactly are we supposed to look like after sleeping?”

“I don’t know. Messy hair, squinty eyes, maybe some dried drool and appearing more… more… caught off guard?” Robin rattles off her list as she stares at them through the screen, shifting around from where it looks like she’s laying in bed, “Actually, now that I’m saying all this outloud, maybe you guys were sleeping,” you and Eddie freeze up in sync. Technically, you two could pass off as the Facetime being a rude awakening in your mutual dishevelment – both your hair and Eddie’s was messy as could be, shirts looking to be twisted from putting them on so carelessly. Hell, at your own detrimental embarrassment, you bet Robin would spot dried drool on your face if she looked close enough. Just not for the reasons she would believe, “Shit, yeah, okay. I believe you guys. You were sleeping. Our bad.” 

Just as you sigh in relief, Eddie’s face blooms with a wicked grin. 

“That or we were fucking.” 

It comes to your attention now that it is very hard to decipher when Eddie is joking. You wonder just how many times you had misinterpreted his sarcasm, how many times he had said a blatant truth only for you to take it for a grain of salt. 

Most of all, you wonder if Robin catches your distress at him actually exposing you two. You don’t even have it in you to shove your elbow especially painfully into his side this time, completely dismayed and unsure of what to say. 

She doesn’t catch it. She only snorts, rolling her eyes, “Right. Of course – or that.” 

You’re still unable to respond as Eddie continues to grin, laughing along with Robin, including her in an inside joke she had no idea of her involvement in. She has no idea. 

Because you guys were fucking. You’d had sex with Eddie, let him use you and throw you around like a goddamn rag doll. And now, here he was, so casually joining around with your mutual friend about it as if it were some absurd dream. Some stupid joke, some unreasonable thought of something that could never possibly happen. 

“Okay, well I’ll let you guys go back to bed-”

“Or jumping each other’s bones,” Eddie interrupts Robin.

She makes an exaggerated gagging noise, though the corners of her mouth are pulled up in a smile, before continuing, “And I’ll let everyone know we probably won’t get an update for the next hour. Just… don’t kill each other, alright? Who knows, maybe you guys can even become friends?” 

You wait for Eddie to take the punch line of something along the lines of being friends with benefits, to make a spectacle yet again of what had just transpired to an unsuspecting Robin. 

It meant nothing to him. It was all a joke to him. 

“See ya, Robs,” you offer weakly, numbly, hardly able to raise a hand to wave her off. You know that to her, this is just a symptom of fatigue. The type of tired solved by crawling back into bed and sleeping it off. She’s not worried; she even grins wider as she says her final goodbyes to you and Eddie before the call ends. 

Eddie knows better than Robin. 

He waits a few seconds after the call has ended and his apartment has fallen silent again, watching your slow movements as you sit your phone down on the arm of the couch. 

You lied to yourself, clearly. This incessant ache in you, this question that has begun to run laps in your mind, will never be satiated or sedated through joking discussions of what happened. You can’t pretend like your hips won’t carry invisible scars for the rest of your days from where Eddie’s hands scorned you, you can’t forget how his lips fit against yours in a movement easier than breathing. Kissing him, holding him, filling him had been more effortless than filling your lungs with the air necessary for survival. And you hadn’t caught onto it in the moment, hadn’t recognized your mistake and stopped this train from running off its tracks quicker than you could handle. 

That’s all it was. A trainwreck. You and Eddie were a trainwreck, and the only casual so far it seemed was you. 

An explosion. A glass wall. A tormented ocean. Every single transaction between you and him ended with you wounded, never him. 

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks when you suddenly stand from the couch, not really sure of where you were going to go but no longer capable of just sitting and thinking, pondering, drowning. 

“Fine,” you curtly reply, deciding the kitchen might be a good place to start. Get a glass of water, gulp it down instead of false hope or fake niceties Eddie was probably going to shower you with now. 

Or maybe there would be no face niceties. Maybe he’d go back to being cruel, and in that, not realize he was being kind to you and your heart that had grown too heavy over the last twelve hours. 

“You don’t look fine,” he persists, and follows you. It nearly sparks irritation. But of all the emotions rushing through you right now, you don’t have the energy to spare for petty irritation. 

“Then stop looking,” you sigh as your eyes trace over his cabinets, trying to remember which one holds his glasses. He gets too close too fast, coming up behind you and opening one of the cabinets as if he was reading your mind. A collection of mugs, plastic cups, and crystal glasses alike line the shelves. You focus on them rather than him. 

“What’s wrong?” he insists, actually starting to get on your nerves now.

You didn’t want to tell him what’s wrong, because it was stupid. The most predictable cliche has come to fruition, and you only have yourself to blame. The anger he’s assuming is his fault is just misdirected. You just needed to get your emotions under control – if you could accomplish that, you could survive these last few hours. 

“It’s nothing,” you push back, finally looking at him. You worry for a second that you might be teary eyed, but you know better. Your corneas burn, everything aches, but your vision is clear as day. He’s clear as day, and it makes the ache all the more unbearable, “I’ll get over it.” 

You’re not supposed to want him this way. You’re supposed to hate him. 

He stiffens, “Get over what?” 

“It.” 

“I-” he stammers at your vague response, mouth pressing into a harsh line as his eyes narrow, “Jesus Christ, how are you still this fucking stubborn? After everything that’s happened tonight? After everything that happened in the last hour?” 

“I’m not stubb-” you fruitlessly try to correct, but he bulldozes on without listening.

“I thought after I had been balls deep in you, maybe we had made some progress – maybe we could be friends-” 

“Are you fucking joking?” you scoff, trying to properly process the sentence he’d just said and not get hung up on him using the phrase balls deep, “I- No, okay? Sex doesn’t mean friendship, Eddie. That’s not how this works.” 

“Then how does it work?” if you were stupid, you’d assume he was begging, “Please enlighten me. How do I get you to trust me?” 

“Why do you need my trust so badly?” you snark back. Misdirected anger, and he’d put himself directly in the line of fire, “Why do you want that of me so goddamn badly when it’s clear that after tonight, we’ll pretend all of this never existed?” 

He steps back as if you slapped him. As if he hadn’t been the one just making a mockery of whatever was happening between the two of you. 

“You said it yourself,” you continue to ramble, waving around a previously fisted hand, “It changes nothing. And it’s not your problem that I struggle with that. I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at myself – there’s a difference.” 

“It doesn’t feel like there’s a difference,” Eddie immediately snaps, “You’re mad because I said… I said that? Because I said your words back to you? Because if you can recall correctly, sweetheart, you’re the one that said it all means nothing first.”

The misdirected anger is starting to feel perfectly directly with each word that leaves his mouth, “Because you asked me if it all meant nothing first. They’re still your words, not mine!” 

“I only asked that because you’ve made it very clear that you enjoy hating me.” 

“You think I enjoy this?” your voice breaks with emotion, taking a step closer to him. Your toes brush his, “You think I enjoy all this fighting with you? You think I enjoy seeing you act like it’s painful to be in a room with me for more than a few seconds at a time?”

His hardening gaze, his hands twitching at his sides, the lilt of his mouth as the corner folds downward. Now that you’ve tasted him, you could never erase yourself of him. 

“You really want to know what I think?” he’s not screaming like he should be. The two of you should be shouting to the ceilings, screaming until the surrounding neighbors could hear you. You want to yell until your lungs give out and noise complaints have been filed, but he’s not having it. He’s quiet as he takes the next step closer. His head dips in closer to yours, lips nearing the shell of your ear, “Do you truly want to know what I think about all of this?”

“Yes,” you whimper out, the need for yelling being swallowed down for the time being, “That’s all I want.”

It’s true. You don’t know if he can see it, the crack in your composure as you admit it, but it’s the truth. You want to see inside his mind, watch the mechanics ticking in real time. You need to know his every single thought and feeling so badly, your hands shake. 

“I think,” his voice comes out as a husky whisper directly against your ear, chest just shy of brushing against yours, “you never really hated me, baby,” he pauses, and one of his hands come out to your hips, grabbing you and pulling you in closer to him, “I think, you just wanted me so badly, it made you into a dumb, angry slut.” 

“You’re cocky,” you shakily laugh. You need to stop this. You need to push him away, save yourself.

You lean into his touch and silent commands, pressing up into him. Going as far as to stand up on your tip-toes so that your nose brushes against his neck. 

“Am I?” he chuckles, and the sound shoots straight to your core. 

You need to push him away. You need to put distance. You need to remember this means nothing.

“You asked me what I thought, sweetheart,” he goes to pull away, and you follow, “And I’m nothing if not an honest man.”

It means nothing. You can deal with your own ramifications tomorrow. You can work through the catastrophe relief come tomorrow afternoon, nurse away the heartbreak and sore disappointment. 

You have him for one night. One night. To let him slip away from you is to waste it. 

“Honest?” you try to scoff, but it comes out a breath against his skin, both hands now wrapping around your waist as he turns the two of you and cages you against the counter, “You… You can’t even honestly tell me why you hate me. You have to use some bullshit excuse.” 

His hands rake down your sides before cupping beneath your thighs, lifting you to sit on the counter. He’s fucking smirking. Completely unaffected by your words. 

“Would you like me to be honest now, doll?” he rasps, leaning back to take you in, “Or would you rather me eat that poor pussy right here, right now, on this counter?” 

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//

Clunk

Clunk clunk humm

You were already late for work this morning and now this? Must be a fucking Monday. This must be that bitch karma’s payback for you talking shit about Eddie’s van the other night when he backed it up to the garage to unload some shit he salvaged from the junkyard.

“You would think that since you’re a mechanic, you could tune up that piece of shit so it isn’t so fucking loud.”

Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, unloading another arm load of car parts from the back of the van to the middle of the garage, “don’t dog on the shaggin’ wagon, you know how much ass I get in this thing?”

The unspoken agreement you had with Eddie the other night after spilling your guts about your past, gave you more patience towards him than ever before. Instead of finding him repulsive, you two were almost friends.

“No I don’t and also I don’t care.” you say taking a bite of a ham sandwich.

“More than a public toilet seat,” Eddie boasts, “Ladies love it, feel like I’m Shaggy or something.”

More like his other four-legged snack-loving friend.

“I really hope you use a rubber, don’t wanna extend the Munson blood line anymore than you have to,” you bite back.

“Oh sweetheart, I always wrap it with the groupies, especially watching Jas bounce from Gareth, to Big D to Walt all in one night.”

“Well look at you, Mr. Perfect bill of health.”

Eddie smiles widely a stupid grin plastered on his face, “I’m so good at the doctors they even give me a sticker. ”

-

Now here you are, stranded at the gas station east of town, past Merrill’s pumpkin patch. Losing all faith in your sanity, you slam your hand into the steering wheel one more time. Your chunky boots clunk across the pavement as you pull the door towards you, a dingy brass bell dings overhead, alerting the gas station attendant that someone has entered the store.

“Back again?” the balding creep with the greasy combover presses. His coke bottle thick glasses full of breakfast pizza slime from his fingers from pushing them up on in place after sliding down the oils on his nose. A brown paper bag with orange spray paint sitting next to it sat on the counter, and a tinge of orange around his mouth.

With no time for small talk or shooting the shit with the local bachelors of Hawkins, you simply need to borrow the phone and call… fuck. You didn’t want to have to call Boom’s, but the other shops didn’t open yet, and you didn’t know any of them. The decision was made.

“I need to use the phone,” you say laying your hands on the counter.

“No can do, this is a business line,” he spits, bits of his barely chewed breakfast falling from his over stuffed mouth.

Irritated beyond belief you say through gritted teeth, “What? My car broke down, I need to have it towed.”

Showing no sympathy, the combover greaseball says, “That sucks, don’t it,” a throaty chuckle erupts from him. Clearly the man got off from making next to little effort in helping someone.

“Listen,” you say peering over the counter to read the slobs name tag, “Ralph— you’re going to give me the goddamn phone so I can get my car towed, or I’m going to tell your boss about your little huffing habit. Got it?”

His cheeks crimson at your threat, “…what’s the number?”

After dialing it wrong three times, Ralph’s oversized fingers and his altered mind getting hung up on where the 4 was on the dusty rotary phone, you hastily reach across the counter and grab it and the Hawkins phone book. Flipping through the worn yellow pages, finding the number yourself and slotting your fingers in the appropriate places to get the number correct, it finally starts ringing.

Angrily tapping your foot, the serenade of dial tone ringing loud in your ear.

“Boom’s” a bored voice says, after ehat seems like hours of waiting.

“Hey, — is Eddie there?”

A scoff is heard from the other end of the phone, followed by an annoyed voice, “Why who wants to know?”

You don’t have time for childish games with whoever this fucking prick is. “Jesus Christ what is it with assholes today? Is he there or no?”

“I don’t know, you stupid bitch— why don’t you tell me if Eddie is here or—”

A scuffle is heard as the phone falls to the ground.

“What the fuck did I tell you? Huh? I’ll drop your ass just name the time and place mother fuck— hello?”

“Eddie?” You ask exhaustedly.

“Tooty? Oh shit, you miss me so much you’re making calls to my work?”

“E—” you begin, frustration rising.

“Or did you call to gossip? Ooooh, tell me all about the salon drama, is it that blonde again, damn just slap her already I know you want to.”

“Ed—!”

“Shit if you’re worried about going to jail I’ll come bail y—”

“Edward Joseph Munson!”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, “Did you just use my full name? I only hear that when I’m in trouble with Wayne.”

“Will you listen to me?! I need help. I’m at the gas station east of town and my car won’t start.”

“What? What happened?” Eddie asks, his joking tone immediately fading to concern.

“I have no idea, but I’m already late for work—can you come pick me up?”

“Usually this is where a please would be.”

“Eddie!”

“Ooh even begging?”

“Goddamnit,” you say under your breath, “Eddie will you please, come get me?”

“That a girl, see that wasn’t so hard. So where are you?”

-

Eddie rolls up in an old orange and white tow truck, head banging with a cigarette hanging limply from his bottom lip. “So what happened?”

“Well I drove here, got gas, and then it just wouldn’t start.”

“Damn, I wonder if your starter is out.”

“Great, so what the hell does that mean?”

“Well, I’m not sure if it is that or not, but if it’s not that— it means that your car is probably going to need more work than it’s worth, but I won’t know until I get it in the shop.”

“Son of a bitch.” you curse, covering your face with your hands and tipping your head back up to the sky. Could this fucking day get any worse?

After buying the house last year, your savings were completely wiped out, the last few months you had been pinching pennies trying to build it back up

“I’ll tow it, but I don’t think Boom has any loaners right now,” Eddie explains, “but since I’m such a kind, handsome, good roommate….”

You roll your eyes.

“I’ll bring you to work.”

Shock evident on your face, “You sure?”

“I mean its either that or the city bus, and last I checked—Hawkins doesn’t have one.”

Eddie agrees to give you a ride until your car is fixed on one condition, the band gets to use the garage for practices again. Too tired to fight with him, you give in.

He backs the truck up, moving the steering wheel with one hand the other hanging out of the window, his tongue poked out through his lips. He jumps down from the truck and maneuvers the wheel lift into place by your front tires.

The muscles in his forearms jut out, tattoos dancing with each movement and covered in a thin sheet of sweat as he grabs the chains from the flatbed and hooks them along your front tires, securing them into place. Your car is lifted slightly giving enough clearance to be able to tow.

“Ready?”

-

Bouncing along side Eddie in the tow truck you sigh heavily, “fuck, I hate Mondays.”

“Okay, Garfield,” Eddie chuckles, turning down the radio and glancing towards you, a cigarette balanced between his teeth, “could always be worse,” he digs into his front pocket for his pack of cigarettes and hands them to you.

You smile weakly and take the pack from him, plucking a tanned filter from the pack and shoving it between your lips. Before you can even say that your lighter is in the car, he’s leaning over. A scratched zippo with a fading design on it, in his hand already flicked open, the flame threatening to go out with the help of the lazy breeze through the open driver’s side window. It’s the same lighter he’s had since you first bummed a cigarette from him when you were thirteen.

Leaning towards him you put the cigarette into the flame, inhaling deep— the cowboy killers burning the pinky tissue of your lungs. He flicks the lighter closed with a metallic snap and smiles out of the corner of his mouth at you. Suddenly your lungs aren’t the only thing burning.

“Thanks,” you say, trying to avoid the skips in your stomach, “I usually prefer menthols, but I guess, these’ll do,”

“Always gotta bust my balls dontchya?” Eddie laughs, a stream of smoke billowing out from his nose. “Hey, uh— I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but that gas station is rated 5 stars on the creepiest place in town.”

You glare your eyes at him, absolutely not having it, “they have cheap gas.”

“There’s a reason for that, and every drug dealer in town sells out of there,” Eddie scolds.

“You would know,” you say in a hateful tone.

“You’re right,” Eddie protests, looking at you earnestly, “I would know— it’s not a good place to be— no matter what time of day, so stay away from it.”

You knew he was trying to look out for you, and from what Steve said, — he blamed himself for the things Chad did to you. But it was never his fault, he didn’t know just like most of Hawkins didn’t. You lived with the Wheeler’s and not even they noticed until you walked home that night. You decide to let it be. For once in your life agreeing to what he had to say.

“Alright,”

-

Boom’s was on the opposite side of town, the rest of the drive you listened to Eddie hum along to the radio and snuck a peek at him playing air guitar. Despite him being so foul, and a royal pain in the ass, he was actually a decent human being.

No other men in their twenties could help you through your panic attack, aside from Steve. But Eddie? He was different from Steve in ways that you couldn’t grasp. You didn’t find yourself staring at Steve. Even if you had been swimming with him on more occasions than you can count. Sure he was good looking, but you never once understood why the girls at the pool practically flocked to him. Eddie hardly ever wore a shirt around you and your stomach ached each time you saw his broad shoulders and tattoos. Steve was like a brother to you, he scolded you and gave you advice, all with his hands permanently attached to his hips. A mother hen among his friends. Eddie teased and taunted you, his irritating behavior and the way he chewed his food, the way his hair was everywhere in the bathroom, the way his hair looked when he was fresh out of the shower, a towel slung on his hips. The way his hips made a ‘V’, small trail of hair from his belly button to his waistband. Fuck.

Is it hot in here?

What the hell were you doing?

There’s no way.

No fucking way.

Nope, not today.

Not ever.

..

…

But what if?

-

Eddie couldn’t understand what was going on with you in the passenger seat. Instead of bitching at him like normal, you were staring out the window. Looking as if you were fighting a storm in your cute little head. Maybe you were reliving the past. Silently suffering through something that he should have been there to stop. But judging from your reflection against the dirty window, you didn’t seem to be crying.

After that night, Eddie was putting in more effort to make sure you felt safe. He gave you distance. Avoided the bathroom in the morning, and stopped making dick jokes altogether. He still joked around, still acted like an idiot— but his perverted meter was dipped into the green zone, the safety net.

He meant what he said, you didn’t have to be afraid with him around. And he would do whatever he could to prove that to you. So when you called Boom’s earlier and asked for help— he dropped everything to make the trek across town to pick you up. Especially when you told him the gas station you were at. Known for being the skeeziest one in town, he worried about you being there alone.

Seeing the tow truck pull into the parking lot, Sean and Aaron had their noses pressed against the glass, the cheap flimsy blinds hung crooked over their heads.

“Damn,” Aaron exclaims, “you were right, that is her.”

“Told you, Munson hasn’t shut up about her since he moved in. Wonder if Chad knows where she’s been hiding.”

-

Eddie parks the tow truck and you both climb out. He gives you the keys to his van and tells you he’d be right back. Walking into the shop with a whistle on his tongue, he goes into Boom’s office. He’s sitting at a worn down wooden desk. Papers, and receipts clutter space where a framed family picture might be. A steaming styrofoam cup of coffee in Boom’s left hand suggested he stopped at the donut mart, and a dozen of glazed holes from heaven would be sitting in the break room, their sweetness tantalizing the crew all day.

Eddie raps his knuckles against the yellowed paint by the door frame.

‘Yep,” Boom chirps without looking up, reading the daily arrest records in the Hawkins Post.

“Hey, I brought Tooty’s Escort back, I’m going to bring her to work quick and when I get back I’ll move it.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Boom gripes, not looking up from the paper, sipping the coffee slowly.

“Dunno, I’ll take a look at it— “ Eddie shifts his weight from one foot to another, “I was wondering if I could maybe work on it after hours, or on the weekends.”

Boom considers what Eddie is saying, “off the clock?”

“Yeah, or maybe I could take some of my tools home? Work on it there?”

Boom thinks for a while, taking a sip of his coffee. His pudgy finger hovering near the name “William Hargrove” mulling over if he knew him. He finally looks up, “Whatever you wanna do, Eddie, you’ve got keys—I trust you.” Boom offers, “just don’t let those other two jackasses know what you’re doing and who for— that’s all they’ve been yappin’ about since you left this morning.

Eddie rolls his eyes, “I’m just helping out a friend, don’t know why they give a fuck.”

“Personally, I don’t give a shit— but you’re my best mechanic, and those other two are on their last strike with me. One more time I read their name in this paper and they’re both out of here, and when that time comes— I’m sure they’ll be lookin’ for someone to blame.”

-

The familiar scent of stale weed and a spilled rotting beer in the back of the van flood your nose. Even though his van was a dirty pile of shit and it stunk like hell, you’re thankful for Eddie taking time out of his day to help you.

He could have easily told you to fuck off, hung up on you the minute you called. But he didn’t. He kept good on his word even when he didn’t have to. He doesn’t owe you anything and yet here he was, proving to you again, that he could be someone to rely on. You peer at him through your lashes, falling deep into a spell of fondness. He was always clean shaven, showing off his babyish features. If you didn’t know his age you wouldn’t guess he was over twenty two, his youthful pale skin a glow like the moon across a lake at midnight. The deep browns of his eyes squint in the bright sun, his dark eyelashes almost kissing his cheeks. His thick ringed fingers tapping on the steering wheel as ‘Holy Diver’ plays gently in the background. The bob of his Adam's apple jutting out as he swallows and takes a drag from a cigarette.

You barely recognize your own voice when you say barely above a whisper, “thank you, by the way— not just for today but for the other night,” your fingers go back to the same nervous habit, twiddling the end of your cream lettuce hem shirt.

“Of course,” he says, a look of shock on his face, “I know I like to give you shit, but I wouldn’t leave you stranded somewhere.” He looks over at you lazily and smiles. The kind of smile associated with cool guys on tv, the kind of smile that’s crooked and truly only on one side of the face. And for the first time, you smile too, letting the warmth radiate through your body, venturing into places that you have to readjust your crossed legs to avoid entirely.

Pulling into the backlot of the salon, where you and Nancy smoke cigarettes and read trash magazines, you jump out thanking him again, the creak of the door slamming back into the frame as you wave goodbye.

“What time?” Eddie yelled after you, silently admiring the way the sun catches your face, highlighting your features, the slight breeze catching your hair, he can’t help the smile that dances on his lips. “What time are you off work?”

Walking back to him, he’s leaning his head back on the head rest, an arm hanging out of the window, a stupid grin on his face.

“My last client is at five and it’s just a cut, so probably six o’clock, why?” A creep of jittery shock threatens your nerves, fluttering your stomach and sending waves of fluster through your body.

“Thought I’d pick you up, unless you wanna walk home?” He smirks, tracing the small paint chip near where his fingers set on the door.

Biting your lip and moving back on your heels you make your way back to the door, “Okay.”

“Alright, I’ll be back at six.”

“Six” you repeat, turning on your heel and walking into the salon.

-

Eddie has thought about you all day, the cards of life and the hand you were dealt were shitty. But he was happy he was around to help in any little way he could. He thought maybe he was crazy, seeing shit when you smiled at him, a sort of shyness in the way you flirted by dipping your head into your shoulder almost giddy at him picking you up.

But that couldn’t be.

-

The rest of your day was monotonous. Shampoo sets, perms, cuts, rinse and repeat. The long haired metalhead hardly left your mind. When it’s just you and Josie left in the salon after your last appointment, it’s 5:30. She sits down, exhaling loudly. Her long dark braids trailing to her waist, cascade down the length of the chair as she leans back.

“Broke down again? Girl, you need a car that actually works.” Her hot pink fingernails dip into a bag of skittles, popping them into her mouth.

“I know,” you sigh, throwing yourself into your salon chair, “hopefully in the next few months I’ll have enough saved to get myself a new one.”

“So how did you get here? If we had someone else in the salon today I would have came and picked you up,” her mouth puckered into a sucking expression as she pops another skittle into her mouth.

“My roommate… he works at Boom’s so he towed it there and then brought me to work,” you express nonchalantly.

“Ooh the rich one who you used to work with?”

“Steve?” You say with a laugh, “No, Eddie Munson.”

“Eddie Munson? Why does that name sound so familiar? Ohh the infamous Hawkins bad boy, my cousins used to run around with him, some club or somethin’ ”

“Yeah, that's him, he’s turned himself around quite a bit since high school though.” The annoying need to defend him is obvious in your tone.

Josie’s eyes go wide, “Wait—“ she says, pointing a pink nail at you, “he had a girlfriend. He’s living with you? Shit, you’re a brave one.”

Heat creeps to your cheeks, the thought of Eddie having a secret girlfriend that you didn’t know about was almost torture on your soul, “no, no girlfriend… that I’m aware of at least.”

Speak of the devil and he will be present.

Opening the door with the sun waning behind him, peeking an orangy-yellow glow through his unruly curls, stood Eddie. His coveralls are full of motor oil and brake fluid. Black grease is smeared across his face, and his hands. Bandana still snug around his head.

“Oh shit,” Eddie blurts, eyes scanning around the room, bouncing from your face to Josie’s. Clearly uncomfortable in such a clean establishment. “Sorry, I’m uhh, a little early.”

Josie’s eyebrows are turned up in shock, her mouth slightly agape. “Damn, you’re the roommate!?”

Before she can embarrass you any further you blurt, “Josie, this is Eddie,” holding out a hand and pointing, introducing him to her, “Eddie this is my boss and the owner of the salon, Josie.”

Eddie waves with his fingers, “so you’re the one lookin’ after our girl here, the mechanic?” Josie asks.

“Uhh, yeah that’s me.” he puts a hand on the back of his neck and rubs it slow

Josie stands and walks towards you, a clicking of her heels and munching on her candy as she grabs your hand and drags you upwards, dragging you to the back of the salon.

Eddie looks around the room. The salon is decorated in light washes of pink and green and flowers decorate almost every surface, White painted baskets hang from the ceiling holding fake flowers. The salon chairs are black as are the mats under them. Green sinks in the back and cabinets overhead. Two mirrors on each wall and station with a name and family pictures decorate them. Eddie can’t help but notice that where you were sitting, there are only three pictures. A photo of you and Nancy looking like it was taken last summer, you’re holding up the keys to the blue ranch style house he now calls home. Another picture is of you Robin and Steve, in green Family Video Vests in front of the counter. You and Robin are both pulling one of Steve’s ears and he’s making a monkey face. The last picture is of you and Eyeball as kids, a portrait more than likely taken at a JC Penney’s.

“Don’t forget to lock up, okay? Enjoy your day off tomorrow. Eddie, be good to her!” Josie calls from the back, the heavy metal door slamming as she leaves for the night, a smile painted on her lips, shaking her head.

You walk back towards Eddie, he’s sitting in your chair, poking around at all of the different brushes and curling irons that were on your station. Your tired eyes scan him and find him in the mirror. “What is all this shit?”

“My tools to style, cut and color people’s hair.”

You’re standing behind him. You hesitantly grab one of his curls in between your fingers, noting how silky and smooth his hair is despite the split ends. “You could probably use a trim, Eddie. When was the last time you had your hair cut?”

“You think these curls have been in a salon? Please! I cut it myself thank you,”

“I can tell,” you mutter under your breath, going full hog and untying his sweaty bandana and tossing it onto the counter. “Come on, let’s go wash your hair, and then I’m gonna give you a trim.”

“You’re not cutting my hair.” Eddie protests, arms crossed and resisting.

“Your ends are dead, if you don’t take care of it now, it’ll keep going further up and then you’ll have to shave your head.”

Eddie practically trips standing up quickly. “Those are fighting words.”

“Do you really think I’d do that?” You ask in a bored tone.

“Actually no, but— okay fine! Only because you went to some fancy school.”

Eddie stomps over to the sink and sits down with a plop in the smooth cushioned black chair. You follow behind him and place your apron back around your neck, tightening it around your back. You lean his chair back telling him to lift his head from the headrest as you gather his curls into the basin.

Turning on the water and testing the temperature on your wrist, like a mother testing a bottle making sure it isn’t too hot for a baby, you gently put the spray into the ends of Eddie’s hair, gently working the spray up the length of his head to his scalp.

“Is the water okay?”

“Ow, holy shit!” Eddie yelps, his body flopping around like a fish out of water. You immediately turn the faucet the other way, apologizing profusely until you realize Eddie is shaking with laughter.

“Oh fuck, … you…” more laughing as he chokes out his words, “should have seen your face.” He mimics your face and bursts into a fit of giggles, you aren’t sure how long he would have kept it up if you didn’t put the hose directly into his face and throw a towel at him.

“Wipe that grin off your face or I’ll wax your eyebrows.” You spit at him, letting out a small laugh.

Mumbling from under the towel is faint but you swear you hear the word bikini.

Eddie finished cleaning his face and lays his head back into the sink again, you don’t ask this time but immediately start wetting his hair. “So,” he says, closing his eyes, so water won’t get in them, “I think I figured out what is wrong with your car.”

“Oh really? Is it going to be an easy fix?”

Not wanting to admit to you that he was working on your car for free or that he would borrow as many tools as he had to to get your car fixed, he settles for a half truth.

“Shouldn’t be too bad, gotta get some parts ordered for it.”

You let out a groan, “oh God— how much are they?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I just said, don’t worry about it, now treat me like one of your clients and tell me all the hot gossip in your life.”

Taking three giant pumps from the white shampoo bottle in the cabinet, you gently massage it into his scalp. Letting the cool smooth pearlescent liquid suds up. His hair feels like brown ropes of silk in your hands. All the years of having your hands in someone else’s hair were nothing compared to the odd feeling of lightly working the suds into Eddie’s mane. Baby soft. Luxurious in ways that contradicted the metalhead image he wore so well like a coat of armor.

You weren’t the only one admiring the way his hair felt in your hands.

Eddie is fighting hard not to melt into a puddle right there in Josie’s salon. Your hands were like magic against his scalp, your nails lightly scratching small circles against his skull. He was sure he’d fall asleep if he kept his eyes closed for any longer. It was the closest thing he could compare to what heaven would be like. Hints of tropical coconut mixed with crushed pineapple filled the air. He didn’t even realize you were talking until he opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of your mouth moving over him. Your face was concentrating on the story that you were telling, but it fell on deaf ears. He was in a trance. The scrape of your nails against his head was almost pornographic to him. The way your eyes were trained on the job at hand. The way your lips parted and moved as you told the story. The animated look in your eyes, sparkling with each slow blink, your eyelashes teasing him.

He had never noticed the features of your face before. Usually if he was this close you were staring up at him and pointing one of those glorious fingernails into his chest, yelling at him— eyebrows pulled in, your face set in a scowl. But now here you were, scratching an itch he didn’t know he had. Filling a void he wasn’t aware was missing. He could die right now and he wouldn’t even know it. It was almost orgasmic the way you were making him feel, all with just simply washing his hair.

He caught himself before you could notice it. He crossed his legs and willed himself to think of anything else. Shutting his eyes and imagining the least sexy thing he could think of. Not wanting to ruin the moment between you both and make you never want to trust him again because he had got an accidental semi while staring at you while you were wrist deep in shampoo, scrubbing his scalp like a woman in the 1800s washing clothes on a board in the creek bed.

Nobody had ever washed his hair before, that he could remember at least. He never wanted it to end.

“…but that’s crazy right? Like she’s a psycho!” The hazy fog of lust finally left Eddie’s mind, his other four senses returning. Looking at your face and seeing that you were hurt by the story you had explained, and ashamed that he wasn’t even listening, he agreed, not even knowing if he should.

“What a bitch.”

You giggled, smiling down at him. Finally realizing you had been scrubbing his hair for almost five minutes, lost in the story. A stupid distraction to force yourself away from the feeling of the silk length of his hair, the way it felt in your fingers. Not wanting to let it slip away. You gather it all in one hand and grab the hose with the other, starting at the crown of his forehead, you rinse the suds from his hair.

Bubbles circle the basin. Disappearing down the drain along with the same shared feelings of lust and yearning. Shoved down deep away from the surface, hidden beneath hardened surfaces, shielded away from the inner depths of the softening heart.

-

You ended up cutting half an inch from Eddie’s curls, careful to not lose yourself in his hair again, almost cutting yourself in the process. Hee watched with wide sad brown eyes with each snip. “It’s like I’m watching you cut parts of my soul away.”

You roll your eyes, “It’ll grow back, and when it does it’ll be healthier and longer.”

His bangs were the next to be trimmed, not even half an inch taken off. You place a leave-in conditioner spray to keep his curls soft and to help with the tangles. Knowing full well that Eddie didn’t even own a hair brush.

When you finish and are sweeping up his curls, Eddie stands shaking his head like a dog and running his fingers through it. “Alright, I’ll admit, it does feel better.”

-

Since the agreement was made for the band to practice every other day of the week in the garage, Eddie had been bringing you to work, and picking you up. On days the band wouldn’t be practicing, when he dropped you at home, he would leave immediately after, sometimes not showing up again until midnight. Coming home tired as all hell, and just like you had done weeks before, a Tupperware of food with instructions on how to warm it up taped to the lid, would be waiting for him in the fridge, each and every time.

There was no more yelling from you when the three members of Corroded Coffin showed up. There were also no more beer cans or greasy food wrappers on the ground either. Instead a trash can sat in the corner, and Eddie paid for pizza after you ordered it.

Actually the band was pretty good. You would never tell him that, that would simply go to his head. And with the ego he already had, he didn’t need another boost of confidence, leave that for the groupies. So every Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday night the band got together, playing covers from their beloved 80’s metal Gods and sometimes original songs they would write. All of them thankful that you let them practice in the garage, Big D picking you up into a bear hug and swinging you around like a rag doll.

“Jesus Christ, D, this is why the ladies run from you, you’re too aggressive, put her down!” Eddie barks. A pang of burning in his chest at the sight of you in someone else’s arms.

Big D sets you down and apologizes, “sorry Toots, and hey speaking of ladies, whatever happened with you and those hotter than hell twins?”

“Oh shit, Gareth hollered, “Fuck dude they were all over him, surprised he’s even able to walk with the way they were strung around him like cats in heat. You usually can’t wait to tell us about it, bragging until the next gig about it at least.”

“That’s cause he probably didn’t do shit, too chicken shit to handle them.”

Your stomach flips, so it wasn’t something you remembered wrong, there were two girls that Eddie had brought home that night. A strange feeling of angst washes over you, coating your mind with uncertainty mixed with inadequacy. Your cheeks warm, embarrassed by the way you are feeling. Excusing yourself to go order the pizza, you don’t see the way Eddie dismisses the guys, blowing them off with a “why don’t we keep our sexcapades to ourselves.” Or the way he throws a full beer at Big D.

-

After ordering the Corroded Coffin special, two large pepperonis, two large sweet and swine, and an extra large order of cheesy breadsticks— you go into the cupboard and bring out several bags of chips and five paper plates. Your favorite, sour cream and onion, and Eddie’s favorite, cool ranch Doritos. You let your mind wander. Thinking about him with those two girls. Realizing this is probably where he went at night after he dropped you off.

No need to feel like that when he was just your roommate, you shake the jealousy from your head. Just Eddie. Barely a friend. Yet he was still going out of his way to take you to work every day, till doing the chores you both shared. You let the silly feelings drop, carrying the chips and plates to the garage, shutting the door behind you. Pulling up your usual lawn chair, listen to the band play and finish painting your toenails.

When the boys end the song, they start again on the conversation they had started before playing, “dude I’m not dressing up as KISS again this year,” Jeff whines to Gareth “took me forever to get that white paint off my face. And don’t even get me started on the eyeliner.”

A spray of beer soaks the ground as Eddie spits it out, laughing hysterically about the memory of watching Jeff struggle lining his eyes like Paul Stanley. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “yeah I agree, I’m not painting your ugly mugs again this year, what else are you thinkin’?”

“We could all be different villains from scary movies. Freddy, Jason, Michael Myers’s, and Pinhead.” Big D suggests, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Nah, no chicks wanna fuck something scary. I don’t know about you— but I tried all of last Halloween to get some tail and no girl would even look my way with all that clown paint on.” Gareth huffs twirling his drum sticks in his fingers.

“What about you Tooty?” Eddie asks earnestly, “Do you and Robin go bar hoppin’ on Halloween or do you usually stay home like an old lady knitting sweaters and handing out black licorice and molding fruit?”

Making a face at him, you paint the last coat of polish on your toe nail. “Actually, Nancy and I usually throw a party. Costume contests, kegs, beer pong… we kinda go all out.”

Eddie picks his jaw up from the floor, scoffing, “no way— Nancy Wheeler and you, throwing a rager on Halloween? I don’t buy it.”

“Call Steve and ask him, he’s the reigning Cherry Lane Halloween costume contest winner for two years running.” You say with a smirk on your lips, stretching your legs and crossing them at your ankles, the pretty maroon polish catching the dim light in the garage. “You guys are more than welcome to come, obviously it’s on Halloween night, and the only stipulation is to bring a good costume, and $5 for the keg.”

Eddie moves his tongue over his teeth, twisting his body to look at his band mates, all three of them shrugging and nodding. “Yeah, we’ll be here,

“Yeah, if you think you’re up for it. Sure.” You say nonchalantly.

-

The smell of mildew and damp carpet currently being air dried with a fan stung your nose. The soggy basement and the crumbling foundation of Sally’s Secondhand in downtown Hawkins was a hidden gem and only open in the afternoons on Mondays and Wednesdays, but they had decent prices and good quality items when you were in a pinch if you could learn to breathe through your mouth for the time you were there.

“So how’s the roomie situation going?” Nancy asks, holding up a hand mixer with two mixing parts and a wooden handle labeled for .10¢. You had scored gold when you found a gently used, practically brand new waffle iron. It was wedged between two cook books for only $2. The same one Karen Wheeler had used on Sunday mornings. You were hunting for discounted Halloween decorations still not sure on what you were going to dress as and Halloween was this Saturday, Nancy was searching for spare camera parts for Jonathan and a toy cowboy hat for her costume that she wouldn’t tell you about.

Putting a masking taped bundle of forks into the blue plastic grocery basket, your forks magically kept disappearing everytime Eddie brought leftovers to work, you let out a sigh, “It’s going okay, better than it was in the beginning. He’s fixing my car up and I cut his hair a few weeks ago. I um.. also told him about Chad.”

Nancy stops dead in her tracks, blue eyes wide, her small mouth agape, “wh-what?!” Nancy was shocked at the news, you nonchalantly delivered like saying ‘fine’ when some asked how you were. She knew how frightening that situation was for you, it was scary for her too. Seeing someone she loved and cared about hurt in ways she couldn’t even fathom.

“We ran into him while getting groceries—like a month ago. I had a full blown panic attack, and Eddie, he helped me through it.” You go into detail explaining everything that had happened. Leaving out the part of you being comforted by Eddie and the gentle way his thick hands caressed you while you sobbed into him like a child who lost their cat.

Nancy's face goes from shock and softens into content, “wow, honestly didn’t think he had a caring bone in his body, he always seemed like such an asshole.”

“I mean he still is, don’t get me wrong— I don’t think he’s giving donations to the local churches or anything, but he seems a little more reserved, if you will,” you say, adding a floral embroidered set of towels for every day of the week to your basket.

“Hmm,” Nancy says with raised eyebrows, and nodding her head, a silent confirmation of approval. Always looking up to Nancy, almost as if she was your real life sister, you admired her. She was always put together, whether you were shopping during the week or at home, she was stylish in a way that said, I will run the world, and have dinner on the table at 6. Her white huarache sandals matched her high waisted pink pastel shorts and white button sleeveless blouse. Effortlessly stunning.

Moving along the aisles you and Nancy both finger through the clothing racks. Pulling out neon prints and a pair Madonna—esque white lace gloves, they probably belonged to that muppet singing idiot, Tammy Thompson. Chuckling at how fashion trends in high school were borderline ridiculous. a denim vest in your size with safety pins on each hem gave you an idea for your costume. Finding everything you needed you were ecstatic to put it all together.

The carpet squashed beneath your feet the further you got into the store. The back room held vhs’s, records, tapes, and books. The records were in a milk carton next to a shelf of adult themed books. The fading sharpie written sign reading “Adult fiction for Women 25 cents” posted bold along the top of the shelf. Nancy discreetly placed, “Thursday and the Lady” by Patricia Matthews into her basket, covering it with matching salt and pepper shakers, a crimson tinge to her rouged cheeks.

Diving into the records you flip them towards you as you lazily scan through them. Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours, Thriller by Michael Jackson, Abbey Road by the Beatles, Kind of Blue by Miles Davis, stuck to the back of it was a small single, Ode to Billie Joe by Bobbie Gentry. It had been years since you heard it, tucking it into your basket, Nancy clears her throat nervously, the blush evident in her cheeks, “I’m ready if you are.”

-

The Saturday of Halloween the salon was closed, giving you Robin and Steve plenty of time to decorate for the party tonight. Eddie was working but was scheduled to get off around 5, just in time to come home and get his secret costume on.

Orange pumpkin printed garbage bags filled with autumn foliage lined the streets of Cherry Lane. Toilet paper streamers were in Mr. Derry’s tree, a prank the seniors of Hawkins High did to him every year, including egging his front door. Vinyl witches hung from doorknobs. Plastic ghosts holding jack-o-lanterns littered lawns. Fake strings of cotton resembling cobwebs with bendy plastic spider thrown around like glitter, lay atop shrubs. Orange lights were wrapped around the trees in your front yard, flimsy ghosts made of white sheets were hung from the branches. It was a child’s Halloween paradise.

“Higher, no lower, well now you’re just doing it wrong.” Steve was in charge of Robin who was in charge of decorations. The beer pong tournament would be in the basement, every strand of Christmas lights you could find were lighting the ceiling, table set up and cups in place. The tournament bracket started with Mike and El playing against Jeff and his girlfriend Ash. The kegs would be delivered later. Buckets ready for ice sitting on the deck. Robin and Steve were still arguing over who had the better costume last year. Twisting black and orange streamers together and hanging them in the doorway to the bathroom.

In the kitchen, you’re finishing up the Jell-O shots, small clear dishes full of cherry red jello made with everclear. A bitter threat to anyone brave enough to eat them. The spinach and artichoke dip is prepped in the fridge, along with 10 packages of crescent rolls, 5 packages of hotdogs, the fruit cut and ready to be put into Steve’s horrendous Jungle Juice that you would actively be avoiding. Nancy and Jonathan were bringing pinwheels and rotel dip. Dustin and Susie are in charge of bringing candy. It’s going to be a blast.

-

“Be right back,” Robin and Steve call out as they leave to go get their costumes. Putting the finishing touches on your costume your hand shakes with nervousness while swiping mascara on your lashes, the pre party jitters wracking your nerves. The ring of the doorbell startles you. The obnoxious ringing should be a dead giveaway but you don’t recognize it until the door is wide open and you’re face to face with Jesus Christ himself and three nuns. Or as you knew them, Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, and Big D.

You aren’t sure whose mouth is hanging open more. Yours or Eddie’s. Eddie is wearing a long sleeved cream colored gown, complete with a crimson sash. His usual black leather boots on his feet and a crucifix in his hand.

Eddie is the first to laugh, hands held out like he’s blessing the house before he enters it. “Aww sweetheart, you really are my #1 fan aren’t you?”

You are dressed as the most annoying on the planet, pain in the ass, voted most perverted of all of Hawkins: Eddie. When shopping with Nancy you found the vest, adding a few hand sewn patches and the best replica of Eddie’s DIO patch on the back, even shoving a pack of reds into the pocket, it looked pretty good. A twin of the aforementioned jackass. Borrowing Nancy’s cheap leather jacket when she went as Sandy from Grease last year, and putting holes into a pair of jeans and washing them as many times as you could to fray the edges, it was perfect. Complete with a horrible curly wig that you thought was a life dog upon seeing it.

“I was going for scary and scary annoying,” you shrug, “think I nailed it.”

“As hilarious and surprisingly accurate your costume is, the real winner for the party is going to be us” He gestured to him and the nuns. “figured I’d go as something that everyone says I need more of and you recognize the boys right? They’re dressed as your friends from work.”

-

The kegs finally show up and Eddie blesses the delivery man before he leaves. Fully throwing himself into character. Dustin and Susie are the first to arrive, dressed as Mrs. Doubtfire and Sally Ride, the first woman astronaut to go into space.

Dustin laughs so hard he cries at your costume. “Oh my God please you have to say, ‘forced conformity, it’s what’s killing the kids!’ Please Tooty Holy shit!”

Mimicking Eddie perfectly you saunter away and scream about society and how good Metallica is.

“Oh haha, so funny Tooty,” Eddie pouts, holding a beer funnel in his hands, “come on Henderson let’s see you put your money where your mouth is.”

-

The backyard is sprayed with foamy beer as Dustin very much can not put his money where his mouth is. Gareth’s up next, chugging like a champion and doing a lap around the backyard like he won a trophy. Eddie and Jeff shotgun beer, Eddie winning by a mile. Laughing and putting his hands in a praying gesture to bless Jeff for his shortcomings.

The rest of the party goers show up, Nancy is dressed like Annie Oakley wielding a fake shotgun and a straw cowboy hat and a long brown dress with fringe hanging from the shoulders. Jonathan and his long haired friend Argyle arrive behind Nancy dressed as Sonny & Cher. Argyle had given up the fast moving life in California once a Surfer Boys pizza arrived in Hawkins. He delivered to the house so much during the nights that Corroded Coffin was practicing that he had your order prepped and ready to go by the time you had called it in. He’d show up so blitzed out of his mind that he’d forget he was at work, sharing his different strains of weed with all the Corroded Coffin boys.

Robin and Steve are in the kitchen, ladling jungle juice into empty cups. The duo dressed as Thelma and Louise, Robin wearing a black muscle shirt and sunglasses, and Steve wore a white tank top with a neckerchief. Both talking in horrible southern accents.

Eddie is standing next to Argyle in the living room both holding almost empty cups of the forbidden jungle juice, deep in conversation about something called Purple Palm Tree Delight, but knowing them, it had nothing to do with a lavender paradise. You reach around Eddie to grab a pinwheel, taking a bite when Argyle, clearly stoned, goes wide eyed leaning into Eddie his eyes still transfixed on you he whisper yells.

“Yo, I swear to God, I just saw two of you.”

“Argyle it’s me, Tooty.” You explain standing next in front of them trying not to laugh. “This is the real Eddie, I’m just dressed like him for Halloween.”

Argyle leans forward and whispers into your ear, “Yeah okay man that’s what the aliens would say before they clone us and take over.”

He leans back and takes two big steps backwards, eyes wide in a horrified daze, before disappearing down into the basement.

“Don’t think I’ve ever said this before, but that guy smokes way too much.” Eddie chuckles, downing the rest of his jungle juice and eating the fruit at the bottom of the cup.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you warn him watching with your own gut twisting as the sweet juices of strawberry slither down his chin and down the slope of his neck.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says, smacking his lips, “I’m twenty six years old, I can handle my liquor.”

“Okay,” you reply, “just so you know, the fruit soaks up all the alcohol and Steve presoaks it all in everclear the night before. Last time he ate all the fruit he spent an hour in the bathroom crying about his love life or lack thereof. And besides, we have to play in the pong tournament in a half hour.”

“We?” Eddie asks, lips turned up and a slight blush to his cheeks, “I didn’t sign up for beer pong.” His dark eyes pour into yours.

Heat creeps up your neck as you reach for a Jell-O shot cracking the lid off and circling the dish with your finger before sucking it into your mouth.

“I signed you up,” you say, reaching for another Jell-O shot, “everyone had a partner but Argyle and Will, so I paired you with Argyle, and I’m with Will,” you slide your finger around the Jell-O dish and suck the cherry gelatin into your mouth, savoring the bitter bite to your tongue before you crush it between your teeth.

“You better bring your A game Munson,” you say, taking a step into him and poking him in the chest, “because I don’t lose.”

Eddie isn’t sure if it’s the alcohol that’s making him feel this way or you but suddenly he can’t stop blushing, laying the charm on thicker than peanut butter, “oh really?” he asks intrigued, “Well babe, I don’t think you know this but I’m the Forest Hills Trailer Park Pong Champion for eight summers in a row, so technically,” he’s leaning forward now, whispering low to get his point across. Your breath hitches in your throat, you can feel the tickle of his lips against your ear, his hair is brushing against your face, the faint smell of motor oil stuck in his curls, “I never lose either.”

He pulls back and your eyes lock. The heat flooding your cheeks burn, the ache in your stomach travels south and pulses with want. You can’t deny it to yourself, even dressed as Jesus Christ, Eddie is the best looking guy you’ve laid eyes on, and you were melting at the way his dark eyes gazed into yours, a smirk placed on his lips as he brushes his tongue over his bottom lip to catch the remnants of the horrific fruit juice. His eyes never leave yours as he takes the Jell-O shot dish you’re holding and sets it behind him on the table. The tension could be cut with a knife, thick and heavily hanging in the space between you both. Eddie opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by El screaming for Mike to get to the backyard instead of puking in the kitchen sink. Her Alice in Wonderland wig askew on her head and holding Mike’s mad hatter hat between her hands.

Running to open the sliding door you get it open just in time for Mike to projectile vomit off the deck.

“Christ, what did he eat?” Eddie asks from behind you, “damn Mike you’re such a pussy!”

“His dumbass didn’t eat all day and when he got here he decided that Jell-O and fruit would be a good option.” El says, rubbing his back as he pukes again and again, “I don’t feel bad for you Mike!”

Wiping his mouth on his forest green jacket sleeve, he murmurs, “Babe, I’m fine, seriously, a few pieces of bread and I’ll be in tip top sh—“ puke splatters wetly against the grass again.

You grab El’s hand and squeeze, “let me know if you need anything, okay?” She nods and smiles sweetly.

“C’mon,” Eddie says behind you, “let’s go so I can kick your ass in beer pong.”

You turn your head, half facing him, “game on, Munson.”

-

The sharpie bracket on poster board continued moving forward thanks to Steve’s basketball knowledge. Jeff and Ash beat Mike and El, Nancy and Jonathan beat out Gareth and Big D in a very close came both opponents having one cup left. Steve and Robin were beat out in the first round by Dustin and Susie, something King Steve would never be living down. Nex on the bracket to play would be you and Will playing Argyle and Eddie. Honestly it should be a piece of cake, a walk in the park. Will wasn’t the most athletic but last year him and Jonathan got second place against you and Nancy so the odds were pretty high. One thing you were absolutely certain of was that you would not be losing to Jesus and Cher tonight.

The basement is packed with everyone besides the ill Mike and faithful El. Argyle and a pink lensed Will are in the corner smoking a fat blunt the sequin jacket he’s wearing sparkles through the haze of smoke and the catches the lights. You haven’t seen him since Nancy and Jonathan’s wedding. But he’s letting his hair grow out, finally letting the bowl cut Joyce insisted on him having all throughout middle school and high school go. Steve has Dustin in a headlock for teasing him about winning against Mr. Hawkins High basketball star of 1985.

“Ya know for once, I was actually good, like really good, Steve overthrew the last cup and it was game over once Susie got the ball. She’s strangely amazing at beer pong. Probably found the mathematical equation from the distance of the table and her elbow to the solo cups.” Robin rambles on, only stopping to get her breath. “How are you? I haven’t seen you all night. Killer costume by the way, if you can’t beat ‘em be ‘em right?”

Robin and her absolute no filter mouth, always make you laugh, linking your arm with hers, “I really like your and Steve’s take on best friends driving off a cliff together to evade police.”

“JESUS CHRIST!” someone yells from upstairs.

Not missing a beat, Eddie can be heard returning the exclamation. “You rang?”

Rolling your eyes and looking his way, you laugh when you see him, holding up his arms in praise.

Robin’s voice bringing you back to the conversation, “Epic right? Steve thought we could be conjoined twins but then decided against it when he figured there was a small chance he could possibly get lucky tonight when that black haired girl at his job kept hinting that she wanted a date with him.”

“What!” you shout, “He never told me this!”

Robin rolls her eyes and takes another drink from her too foamy beer, “he’s nervous, I think he really likes her but doesn’t wanna fuck it up like he does everything else.”

Steve deserved to be happy and to have someone love him. He was always making sure everyone else was okay, you smile at the thought of him with a girlfriend.

“So,” Robin presses, wiggling her eyebrows, “Eddie looks good tonight,” a wicked smile dances wildly on her lips.

“I’m not at all buzzed enough to have this conversation,” you say, taking a peak at Eddie through your eyelashes, he was laughing loudly at something Steve had said, head thrown back, exposing his neck.

Will joins your side, reeking of weed and heavy musk cologne. “Tooty!” He squeals, wrapping you into a tight hug, “the house looks so fucking good I can’t believe it, also I heard that you’re living with Eddie? I’m going to need all the details!”

“It’s so good to see you, look at your hair!” You say holding his arms. Will threads a hand through his hair and laughs a little.

“Thanks, it’s new but it’s kinda growing on me, now, spill it. Tell me everything.”

“Next game!” Nancy announces, advancing her and Jonathan to the next bracket. “Argyle/ Eddie vs Tooty/ Will.”

Will grabs your hand and drags you to the beer pong table, “after?” He asks and you nod your head.

Eddie and Argyle are standing on one end, you and Will on the other. The cups are arranged into a triangle and filled with the warming pitcher of keg beer.

“You ready to go down groveling, sweetheart?” Eddie sings from across the table, eyes squinting when he leans on the edge of the table smiling at you.

Your stomach flutters, taking a long swig of Will’s jungle juice, staring Eddie down as you gulp the vile liquor and fruit punch combo down, “You ready to get your ass kicked, Munson?”

-

“Woo! That’s balls back ba-by,” you sneer, hooting and hollering as Eddie begrudgingly tosses the balls back your way. It was almost as if Argyle and Will weren’t even there, this game was between you and Eddie. You were definitely buzzed, between the warm beer and the Jell-O shots you had eaten you were feeling good.

When you miss the first cup, Eddie makes devil horns at you and howls at the moon like an idiot. You sink the next cup, earning a high-five from Will, and a sly grin from Eddie as he removes the cup and chugs the warm beer. He’s secretly excited that you’re so happy, letting loose, in your element, surrounded by your loving friends. You glowing with a sense of freedom. In that moment when your eyes caught his, he knew he was in trouble, you were wrapped around his finger and he didn’t think of hardly anything else, but you, your beautiful smile, the way your hair caught each light you were under. He was in deep, and for right now, he was perfectly and utterly okay with that.

It’s Argyle’s turn and he surprisingly sinks both cups, being awarded with balls back, as you and Will each take a cup and drink the suds down. Trying to distract him, you whip off your Eddie- esque wig and toss it towards Eddie, shaking your hair out like a wild woman.

Unphased by your antics he does it again and you groan. Four in a row? This guy was half asleep the entire game and all of a sudden he’s an athlete? They only have 1 cup left. Tension rises and the room goes to silence at Steve’s request. Argyle sinks it. Eddie erupts into cheers grabbing Argyle by the shoulders and jumping up and down.

“Redemption attempt!” Steve shouts, giving Will the ball. Will takes it with nervous fingers, blowing the ball to dry it slightly as you chug the last cup. He only has two cups to make. Will tosses the ball and the room goes silent, it feels like it’s in slow motion, or maybe that’s the alcohol. The ball soars through the air, bouncing against the rim of the cup lapping up the foamy beer, before it falls off and teeters off onto the table.

Argyle raises both hands in the air, “VICTORY!” the room erupts with cheers. Will apologizes profusely but you hug him tight, telling him you were happy he was your partner.

“Next game is Jonathan/Nancy vs Jeff/ Ash starting in 20 mins!” Steve hollers. The basement clears out as people go upstairs to use the bathroom and refill their drinks.

You expect Eddie to be gloating, cocky beyond belief. But he’s the opposite, coming up to you slowly, head bowed, upper teeth practically biting his lower lip in half.

“Good game sweetheart,” he says barely above a whisper, “not gonna lie, I really thought you guys were gonna win.”

Holding your chin high, face only inches from his, the brown pools of colored whiskey stare into your eyes. Placing a hand on his chest, the alcohol gives you enough of a push to cross the line. The thin gauzy material of the gown he’s wearing is sticky with sweat and warm from the heat radiating from his body. “Told myself I wouldn’t lose to Cher and Jesus tonight.”

Eddie let’s out a throaty laugh, “can’t believe he pulled that off, he didn’t make a cup all game.”

“Guess you get to continue wearing that tarnished crown, speaking of wardrobe… where the hell did you get this outfit?”

“You know that church across from the police station?”

“The one with the Jesus statue inside?”

Eddie raises his eyebrows and gives you a knowing glance, waiting for you to catch on.

“No way! Eddie! You broke into a church and stole an outfit off of a statue?”

“Amen,” Eddie says roaring with laughter, “ahh c’mon you can’t tell me it wasn’t a genius idea.”

Rolling your eyes, “I wouldn’t exactly call it genius, but funny? Yes.”

He laughs again, “not everyday I get a compliment from myself,” he says eyeing your costume, “you do make a pretty cute Eddie Munson if I say so myself.” he wasn’t even thinking anything of it, just blurted it right out.

Flirting came easy to him almost as a second nature, he was never nervous around women, usually finding the game of sex not just something he was good at but conquered with ease. But this, here, with you? Was a slippery slope. A different game for him entirely. He was a pawn amongst you and you were the queen, striking down whoever came near, holding all the power.

Your cheeks heat from his compliment, blood rushing through your body and warming your skin, he holds your hand to your chest, stroking your fingers with his thumbs.

A thousand bolts of lightening ignite you, he smells like smoke, ashy and burning, the cheap keg beer on his breath as he smiles softly at you.

“Tooty!” Steve calls from the top step, clinging onto it for dear life, “are you down there?!”

You’re the first one to break away, pulling your hand from his grasp, threading them together at the last minute, finger tips clinging to each other like velcro. The flames between you both extinguished fast, no oxygen left in the room to keep it going.

Getting to the bottom step and turning, you give him one last glance and a small smile, before trotting up the stairs to Steve.

-

Eddie opens the patio door to find Gareth and Big D blowing smoke into the sky and talking about the best DIO song.

“Shit man, where have you been? Didn’t your game end like 15 minutes ago?”

Eddie thinks of a lie quick, “Taking a piss why you wanna watch?”

“That’s weird,” Big D questions, “cause Gareth just came out of the bathroom unless there’s a magic bathroom you haven’t told us about.”

“What are you guardian of the toilet?” Eddie says slotting a cigarette between his teeth and flicking his zippo open.

“I mean he’s got a point,” Gareth interjects, “where have you been tonight, turning water into wine? Or are you healing the blind?”

“Cool it, Whoopi,” Eddie bites, “the fuck does it matter where I was or wasn’t?”

“You’ve changed dude. Used to be a ladies man, different chick every night. Smoking and drinking all night watching the sunrise. Fuck man you were hell on wheels. Then all of a sudden you move in here and you’re acting like the Pope, fixing up her car off the clock, bringing her to and from work, you’re like her fucking babysitter.” Gareth exclaims.

“Fuck off man, she’s Eyeball’s sister, and I’m just looking out for her.” Eddie grits through his teeth.

“Or,” Big D suggests, “you like her, I mean you still haven’t even told us about the twins— and you stare at her like she’s about to combust at any moment.”

“Yeah and what do you two know about anything?” Eddie spits.

“Clearly not shit, but you’re all fucking riled up about a girl you don’t like.” Gareth flicks his cigarette and goes inside, Big D following.

The door opens again, “listen man, I’m not in the mood for your stupid fucking advice.” Eddie groans, turning to see Steve standing at the door, an empty pitcher in his hand. “Shit, sorry, thought you were Gareth.”

“Nope kept my habit at home,” Steve says with a chuckle, setting the pitcher on the edge of the deck, “nice party, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, “ya know when Tooty first told me that her and Nancy threw a party every year I didn’t believe it, turns out I was wrong about her, seems to be a theme of mine lately.”

“She doesn’t let a lot of people in, but once you’re here, it means she trusts you, respects you.” Steve explains.

Eddie smiles softly, ashing his cigarette.

“She cares about you, ya know? She might not want to admit it— may even be scared to admit it to herself, but she likes you.”

Eddie gives him a look. Sure you were nicer to him, not threatening to kick him out anymore. You had let the band practice in the garage, even staying out there to hear them play. But that didn’t mean anything did it?

“How many times do you think she’s cut my hair?” Steve inquires, leaning next to the railing on the deck beside Eddie.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says honestly, “a dozen?”

Steve chuckles, “Never, not once, never even offered. You think she made elaborate meals for Nancy when they lived together? Wrong— she barely touched the stove. You move in and she’s changed, for the better. It’s like she’s coming back to life, and the only common thing in that equation, is you.”

Eddie mulls this over, could Steve be right? “I don’t know man.”

“I may not be Mr. Relationship but I do know Tooty, and you’ve softened her edges. Tamed that frightful girl we all love and adore. She’s got walls up, keeping people out, but not around you, not anymore.”

Eddie hangs his head, his heart bursting with sad euphoric bliss. He couldn’t go about this like any other conquest. And with you it would never be how it was with the other women. Faceless broads in mini skirts, praising him, doing whatever he wanted them to. He never saw you in that way. Holding you on a pedestal about the rest. He hadn’t been in a relationship in years. One too many times of being cheated on was enough for him. But you were hurt too, more so than he was. He was still licking his wounds with anything willing and able. You? You were a shell of yourself. He couldn’t act on this like he would with anyone else. He cared about you too damn much to make you feel like you couldn’t trust him again.

“And I know you care about her. Everytime I look at you you’re staring at her like a sad little puppy.”

Eddie looks up then, looking at Steve like he held all the answers to life’s questions. He turns and leans against the deck, elbows on the railing just how Steve was facing the house.

“Yeah, you’re right, I do care about her, more than anything. So what do I do?” He asks Steve.

Steve shrugs, letting out a loud sigh, “keep doing what you’re doing, she knows you care about her, just don’t disappear on her.”

Eddie turns his head from Steve and catches sight of you through the patio doors. He can see you taking a Jell-O shot with El, Robin and Nancy. A sleeping lump of clothes on the kitchen table with black hair must be Mike. You light up the room as you laugh when Robin makes a repulsive expression after taking her Jell-O shot. He can’t hear your full laugh, it’s faint through the glass. But, he doesn’t need to hear it to know the sound—having heard it more and more the last few weeks, the way you throw your head back when something is really funny, sometimes covering your mouth. He’s certain he’s never seen anyone more angelic in his life. Like you have sucked all the air from the room, even dressed in a sheer mockery of him, you’re radiating a glow that makes his heart swell. He has never cared about anyone the way that he does for you.

Seeing him through the doors standing next to Steve, he has a smirk on his face. A sudden rush of shyness creeps up your neck and you turn away from him, but you reciprocate his actions, smiling at him. A small gesture that melts him on the spot.

Eyes trained on you but still talking to Steve, Eddie beams, “I’m not going anywhere.”

A/n: see you in volume vii

Hope you all enjoyed this. There were some little hidden Easter eggs in this chapter, go to my askbox if you found them 💕

readmore eat my ass or this line you decide, whore.

—

There was the first guy, who had been kind enough. A simple meeting over coffee and by the time the lattes were cold, you knew there’d be no second date. That was fine. You could live with that.

The second guy had more potential. A first date in a bar was almost a red flag, but after a fun game of pool, you’d agreed to meet again. The second date was at a restaurant that you learned he’d taken his ex-girlfriend to; actually, you’d learned a bit too much about his ex-girlfriend that night. She was the only thing he could talk about, and when you’d later explained that over text for being your reason against a third date, he’d called you every crude name in the book. 

And the final guy. A guy you’d really liked, that you’d been messaging back and forth since a month before. He was a busy guy, a bartender and full time student, and you understood – you really did. But he was charismatic and lured you in over the phone, and you hadn’t been so giddy for a date in a while. It felt like there were sparks, like he might be the one.

He didn’t show up. Last night, you’d sat like a fool at the restaurant you two agreed upon for two hours before realizing he wasn’t showing. Sipped your way through two ciders, even picked on an appetizer of fries, telling yourself he’d show up. He was just busy. He’d show up. 

He never showed up. He didn’t even text you. The waiter had waived your bill for the night, but his look of pity only made your stomach twist worse. 

Pathetic. You felt pathetic. 

“We’re all getting together at my place tonight,” Steve had whispered to you during class that morning as you two were packing up things as the lecture ended, “Everyone’s just going to hang out, drink, let loose. You should come.” 

And so you came, overly optimistic about the entire idea. You didn’t even think to ask if Eddie was going to be here – even he couldn’t dampen your excitement at a break after the month you’d had, even with his recent mean streak. 

Mean. You’d never thought after that first night you’d be able to describe him that way. Cold, sure. Callous, perhaps. Indifferent, of course. But mean? Mean didn’t seem like something others saw Eddie as genuinely capable of. Steve always ranted about how good of a guy he was, Robin would tell fun stories of nights out with him and how much of a good time he was, Nancy considered the guy her best friend. You knew your new friends, and you didn’t take them as being the type to befriend someone so unkind. 

But you didn’t see the good guy, the fun guy, the best friend. Whenever Eddie Munson was around you, his guard was up and his words were sharp. They cut through your unbridled disappointment with ease, reminding you that you were not his friend. You weren’t even sure if you were an acquaintance. 

And sure, you took it too far at the diner. You could admit that, even before Robin scolded you. But to see him sitting with someone not from your friend group, to see him being so kind and endearing to someone new, had burned you with fury like no other. If he could treat some blonde he’d surely matched with on a dating app so sweetly, why couldn’t he afford you the same warmth? Someone he saw nearly weekly? 

So you went for blood. Except, you were the only one wounded in the end, after the silent treatment you’d had to endure as you watched Eddie clench his jaw and pretend you didn’t exist. 

“What are you drinking tonight?” Steve smiles when you enter his kitchen, brows still furrowed in careful thought over your miserable month, “I’m guessing something strong?” 

“The strongest thing you’ve got, Harrington,” you reply, trying to shake back into excitement. It was going to be fun. You were going to drink with friends, partake in silly conversations no one would remember come morning, and you were going to have fun. 

Steve holds up a bottle of vodka, a name brand you don’t care to acknowledge, along with a 2-liter of Coke, “Think this’ll work?” 

You nod, and he pours. When he hands you the crystal cup reeking of overpoured alcohol, you take a sip and nod. 

Oh, yeah. Two of these and I won’t even remember Mr. Stood-Me-Up. 

“I heard about your date,” Steve means well, but the reminder is the exact opposite of what you want. You’re quick to glare at Robin, who throws her hands up in defense. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you quip, taking a larger second sip. If you weren’t trying to pace yourself, you’d probably chug the entire thing, “Not much to talk about, anyways. Got some free food and alcohol out of it, at least.” 

“That’s good! I bet you dodged a bullet.”

I probably didn’t. “We can only hope.” 

Steve pours himself a drink as well as Robin, and you can hear Nancy and Jonathan already chattering in the living room. No sign of Eddie so far. Maybe he wasn’t coming, and you’d finally caught a break. 

“To forgetting the names of men who suck,” Steve chides as he raises his glass, and Robin mirrors him. You hesitate for a moment, a fraction of a second.

You were starting to believe it wasn’t them, it was you. You were the common denominator of all the terrible dates. Did sparks not fly with the Coffee Boy because you dampened the fuse? Was two-date-chump only talking to you about his exes because you didn’t provide anything interesting enough to take his mind off them? Surely, it had to be your fault that you were stood up the night before. Surely. 

You pull from your pity party, and nimbly raise your glass. The rim hardly brushes that of your friends’ cups, but you all throw back your poisons of choice regardless. They don’t seem to notice the way you’ve begun to float within your head, the way you’re crashing through violent waves of pathetic self-hatred. 

It was you. You’re the problem, and you’re the only one who can solve it. Eventually. 

Robin is dramatically gagging on what you think might be redbull and vodka as Steve silently grimaces at his straight whiskey, clearing his throat before he says, “Okay, I know you don’t want to talk about last night, but Robin mentioned you’ve had a few dates this last month. Anything worth sharing? Any luck?” 

There’s a snappy remark of clearly not on the tip of your tongue when the doorbell rings down the hall, and the three of you all turn your heads as Nancy calls out that she’s got it. 

—

HOUR ELEVEN - 2:00 AM

Once Eddie starts kissing you, he can’t stop. 

It isn’t soft, nor caring – the moment his hands meet the flesh of your hips, it’s bruising. He doesn’t even break for air as he fumbles with the knob blindly, giving a final twist of his keys before the door swings open behind you and the two of you stumble backwards into the sanctuary of his apartment. It’s all teeth, it’s all desperation, it’s the accumulation of a year of snide remarks and low-blow insults all coming to head as he kicks the door shut behind you and spins so that your back meets the wood. 

Your hands are tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck and– oh God, when did you reach up and grab at his hair in the first place? 

He groans at the force of your fist, and it suddenly doesn’t matter. You don’t care how they got there – you only care to keep them there. 

He finally breaks the kiss, spit trailing between your lips as you both gasp out breaths, “You-” he dives back in, capturing your lips between his in a harsh and quick action before another break, “fucking-” another break, another gasp. He remains close enough that each harsh exhale flows right into your mouth, down your throat and into your lungs, “infuriate-” this time, he pauses, not moving back in for another kiss as his forehead is pressed hard against yours, eyes wide open and boring into yours, “me.” 

The venom that laces the words don’t scare you. It’s all verbal aposematism, rehearsed and practiced hatred that bears no weight, not anymore. Not as his hips are digging into yours and another tug of his hair has him putty in your hands. 

You know the dance well. You know the next step. 

“Good.” 

His next kiss is even more vicious, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip and making you whine into him, one hand finally unraveling from his curls to find purchase in fisting the leather of his jacket. There’s a fine line that neither of you are daring to cross, only toeing as teeth and tongues clash. 

This time, when he pulls away, you’re the one chasing after him. You don’t care about breathing; you care about his lips on yours, sucking all the smoke and oxygen from your lungs. 

 He’s the one to finally cross the line. A hand comes up to your throat, not nearly as rough as it should be, as he keeps you in place with the back of your head pressed to his front door. A pleading mewl leaves your lips of its own accord.

 “Oh, sweetheart, don’t be so desperate.”

The line’s been crossed, the chords all snapping between you two. There are no invisible strings tying you to the man before you, the man that has you aching between your trembling thighs and erratic breaths. Only gravity.

“Me? Desperate?” your voice nearly fails you as you lean into his touch surrounding your throat, preening forward so that your lips brush his, “I’m not the one fucking off to porn magazines that look like you, pretty boy.” 

You’re both on the same side of the line now as you watch his eyes darken. It’s a sensitive topic, a bruise you’ve chosen to prod out in the hopes that he’ll break at the same alarming rate as you. 

You need him to fuck you. You need him to use you, to throw any caution or revelations to the wind. You want him to push you so far you can’t remember your own name, let alone all the emotions that travel the channels between you. 

“Think you can do any better than my hand, baby?” he questions as he buries his head into the crook of your shoulder, breath and lips leaving a buzz along the skin he comes in contact with. His fingers tighten ever so slightly, and your head rushes with a weightless bliss. 

Your pulse is against his thumb, drumming beneath the pressure of it as you reply, “Do you think you can do any better than mine?” 

A dozen insinuations layer the words, and he catches every single one. Your lashes flutter into your eyesight, lids growing heavy as he lifts his face from your shoulder and looks at you wickedly, grin spreading treacherously. 

“Are you trying to tell me you touch yourself to me?” he taunts, pressing closer, “You thinkin’ of me at night when you get lonely, all desperate and pathetic, wrapped up in your own sheets? Do you wish it was my fingers, and not yours?” 

Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. “In your dreams, Munson.” 

“Of course,” he chuckles, “I thought that was a given. Don’t tell me you’re so dumb you’ve figured out I get myself off to your lookalikes, but not that I dream about you, sweetheart.” 

The thought of it makes your stomach flutter, your thighs clench. He’s quick to shove his knee between your legs, letting you drop so that your crotch nearly brushes his thigh. But the distance remains and no relief from friction comes, he makes sure of it as his fingers finally lift slightly, letting the blood rush back to your head and into your cheeks. 

“Is that what you were thinking about in the bathroom?” 

His movements finally falter. You almost have the upperhand again, you almost have him back in your palms, back down to your height in cockiness. 

You take his silence in stride, a smirk gracing your own face, “Oh, you were, weren’t you?” you pause, and drop a hand to his torso, nails raking over his shirt and making him suck in a sharp breath, “You thought I wouldn’t hear? You were being so awfully loud, y’know. Surprised you didn’t say my name.”

He breathes back to life, hand unwrapping from your throat to grip your chin, his thumb just barely making contact with your bottom lip as he tugs softly, “You would have fuckin’ liked that, wouldn’t you? As if I didn’t feel you get so hot and bothered by me on the bike,” it’s your turn to freeze, realizing your fears were valid, and he laughs lowly, “Oh, yeah, baby. I felt that. Hard to miss when you were clinging to me like I was your goddamn savior. What were you thinking about, hm? I bet you were thinkin’ about just that – me moaning for you, cumming for you. I bet it drove you fucking crazy, didn’t it?” 

“What were you thinking about in the bathroom?” you whisper as his thumb presses harder into your lip, “Show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” 

Your hand finally drops to its destination, cupping him through his sweatpants, wrapping around his girth. 

He’s big. Bigger than you had expected, and he knows you’re shocked by the way you still once more, cocking his head at you with the utmost confidence. 

He’s fucking lucky to be packing. It’d be a shame to be such an asshole and not have the ability to back up all his talk. 

“You want me to be honest right now?” he asks, a thread of seriousness binding his words. You don’t hesitate to nod, even with his grip on your chin, “I was thinking about your mouth. Thinking about those pretty lips wrapped around my cock. I was thinking about you on your knees and those eyes looking up at me, all teary as I fucked your mouth.” 

Your grip on him tightens, and you make the daring move to suck the tip of his thumb into your mouth, making eye contact as your tongue swirls around it. 

“Fuck me,” he groans, throwing his head back, his grip immediately falling slack on your face. You see the opportunity and take it, surging forward to latch your lips onto his exposed neck. You start with light kisses, pressing them in rapid succession down the vein that lays poorly hidden by the stretched skin, pausing once you get closer to where the expanse meets his jaw.

“I’m trying to,” you taunt before sucking hard. 

He moans loudly, echoing off the walls of his apartment, the hand still on your waist turning into an even more impossibly tight grip. The hand that once held your face has come up to tangle in your hair, gripping you by the roots and pulling you away just as the blood vessels on the surface have burst and bloomed in full shades of red and pink. 

Your scalp burns as he pulls you to be face to face with him, eyes hard as you keep your hand on his clothed dick. You can feel him twitch as your palm at him, no longer caring about being desperate. You were desperate. You wanted him to give up the game, set aside the chase, and ruin you. You wanted his neighbors to hear as you chanted his name like a prayer, as every memory of every reason as to why you resented him fled your system with each thrust of his hips that could pin you to the wall. 

“Is that what you want?” he’s no longer teasing you, his tone sounding as if he were asking for permission now rather than taunting you any further, “You want me to ruin you, sweetheart?” 

The chase is nearing its end, and you nearly shatter with anticipation. 

With one last trick up your sleeve, one last attempt to break him, you shrug as if you aren’t flushed and terribly flustered to the point of no return, “I guess. That’s one way to pass the time.” 

When he breaks, it is sudden, and it is unkind. One moment, your break is aching from being pressed against wood, and your core is throbbing as you consider dropping to his thigh to find your own relief. The next, he’s throwing you around carelessly as his mouth slots to yours once more. 

Just as it doesn’t matter how your hands found their way into his hair, it doesn’t matter how he pulls you from the door and navigates you to his couch. Your mind isn’t focused on where your body ends up, it’s focused on the feeling of his lips, chapped and pressing to yours eagerly. It’s focused on the way that the weight of his hands pressed tightly to your lower back feels. It’s focused on the overwhelming spice of his cologne, the smell of the night air still clinging to his cheek, the taste of his salt water as you dive under and let yourself begin to drown. 

He’s consuming you, lungs and all. Limbs and all. Mind and all. 

It’s a bad decision. This is going to be both of your downfalls, and you should stop before it goes too far.

You don’t stop it. Neither does he. All he does is throw you down to sit on his couch as he falls to his knees in front of you, bringing a palm to each knee and spreading your legs as he settles between them.

He’s the prettiest you’ve seen him yet. Even prettier than the first night. His lips are swollen pink, puffy and still lingering with your spit. Your mark on him, the first of many you need to leave, right along with the bruise on his neck. You wonder how hard you’d have to bite to bring blood tonight, you wonder which other spots on his neck would make him melt against you as you explored him fervently and left a whole collection of bruises that spell out your message very clearly – he’s mine for tonight.

His chest heaves as his eyes stare up into yours, hands gripping each of your knees. Even through the cotton, your skin is burning from his touch, your wildfire still thriving as you navigate this ocean he’s thrown the two of you into. A man-made river, more like it. It was made by his hand, it was created treacherously and with purpose against you, and yet you’re still here wading in it, also by his hand. 

“Tell me to stop,” he begs, unexpected as his hands squeeze you, his eyes zeroing in on his palms as they travel up to your thighs, pulling you closer and making your back slide down the cushion from the position you’re seated in, “Tell me you hate me.” 

For a second, you almost tell him you can’t. You can’t tell him to stop. Not as your leg lifts and his shoulder fits perfectly into the ditch of your knee, not as his hands creep further up to the band of the borrowed sweatpants. And once his fingers curl into the waist, knuckles pressing to your soft skin, you know you won’t. 

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, making his eyes shoot up to meet yours again, “I hate you, but don’t you fucking dare stop.” 

Quickly, at an almost impossible rate of speed, he yanks the sweats down off of you. They’re tossed behind him into a pile on his living room floor, uncared for and quickly forgotten. 

Once your skin is exposed to him, he’s planting messy kisses linearly up your shin, over your inner knee, until he reaches your thighs. Marks are left in his wake, shades of deep maroon fading lilac as he nips and sucks against them just as you had to his neck. 

“Show me yours,” he mumbles into your skin, fingertips pressing indents as he openly mouths over the hickies left behind. 

“What?”

“I showed you mine, now show me yours,” he insists with wild eyes, hair hardly contained by the bun that once contained the curls, “When you touch yourself, what do you think about?” 

“You,” you sigh out as he presses another kiss to you, even higher up now, growing dangerously close to your cunt. 

“What about me?” he pushes, staring up as he removes contact, “Use your words, baby.” 

“I-” you can’t think clearly, mind muddled with smoke and the image of him there before you, on his knees, “I think about your fingers instead of mine. How thick they are, how they’d feel.” 

His smile shows little satiation, “Go on.”

You’re so focused on getting the words out, you nearly don’t notice a hand loosening its grip on your thigh, inching up to your panties, playing with the lace edges. 

“I think about how deep you’d go, how you’d curl your fingers just- fuck,” you cut off with a gasp when his fingers slide beneath cotton, brushing over your wet folds. 

“Just fuck?” he mimics, pouting slightly, “Afraid I’ve never heard that one before. Might need you to demonstrate for me. How do I curl my fingers just fuck?” 

“Fuck you,” you whine, writhing beneath his touch as your ankles lock behind his head. 

“I’m trying to,” he pitches his voice to mock your own, and you regret ever saying the words to him. He clicks his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head, “God, you want me to fuck you so bad, it’s making you stupid.” 

His fingers stop teasing you as he finds your entrance, circling only the tip of his pointer finger to gather the slickness. Your hips buck, the desperation clawing its way through your entire body now, leaving ash and destruction in its path before Eddie brings an arm across your waist to hold you down to the couch firmly. 

“Beg for it,” he commands, voice shooting straight into your chest, “Be a good girl and say please, yeah?” 

His finger still circles your entrance, teasing but never quite pressing in, leaving you a whimpering mess. You begin to wonder if there will be any sign of how hard his forearm is pinned against you. 

A battle of both your prides. He can feel you burning up now, he sees the flames dancing and he’s willing to play with them rather than give in to you. 

You have to bite your lip to avoid letting the please on the tip of your tongue slip out for him. You’re still fighting him, still defying him. 

“I have been far nicer to you than you deserve,” he continues his taunts, a grin growing when he catches the way you’re physically holding back, “We both know it, so just say it. Say the word, and I’ll keep playing nice.” 

His finger breeches your entrance slightly, and you gasp, head thrown back immediately, “When have you ever been nice?” 

He tsks, removing the tip of his finger, letting it glide up between your folds before it stops just short of your clit, “Oh, I’m always nice. You just never seem to notice.” 

You think about it again. All the acts of kindness that went under the radar, all the times you’d buried in an effort to continue to harbor detestation for the man before you. He’s right – he probably doesn’t realize it, but he’s far more correct than you’d give him credit for at this moment. 

“Please fuck me,” you whisper to the ceiling, before swallowing hard and leaning your chin back down, looking him in his eyes as you decide to give him more than he asked for, “Please ruin me.” 

You’ve watched a mirage of emotions flush across his face on every possible occasion. Anger, distaste, aggression, laughter, annoyance. But you’ve never seen want quite like this grace his features. 

“Gladly.” 

His fingertip circles your clit, once, twice, three times, applying the perfect amount of pressure to have you crying out before he’s removing his forearm and nearly tearing your underwear to move it to the side and thrusting two fingers into your desperate cunt immediately. 

You sob out and nearly double over, the sting and stretch making you keen as he wastes no time. You’ve said the magic word, you’ve played his game, and now, he’s returning the favor. 

He’s playing nice. And, God, is nice quite the word to describe what he’s doing to you as he pumps his fingers into you, thrusting them in as deep as his knuckles allow before he curls them and brushes the spot that could make you scream with the right skill set.

He has the skill set. He notes your clenching on his fingers, and he curls again, with more intent this time. 

Maybe the thin walls only apply to the inside of his apartment, if you’re lucky. 

“Is this what you want?” he questions, leaning in so close to you that you feel his breath wash over you, “Is this what you meant by ruining you?” 

You nod, finding it becoming increasingly harder to speak as you gasp, “Y- Oh, fuck. Yes. Ple- fuck. Please.” 

He pauses, and you nearly scream out in frustration and protest before he rips your underwear off of you, dragging it down your legs and forcing your ankle to unlock from behind his head as he fights with the flimsy piece of cotton. You expect him to throw it, to let it join the sweats, but instead, he brings them to his face. He’s wolfish as he looks up at you, taking a deep breath in with the cotton pressed to his nose, not saying a word but watching you clench around nothing as he finally tosses the panties over his shoulder.

You see them catch on the coffee table, nowhere near the sweats. 

“Smell so sweet, baby,” he coos, bringing his fingers back to you, his tongue peeking out to lick his lips, “I might just have to tast-” 

A phone ringing cuts him off. The trill cuts through the silence, piercing both your ears, making you look at each other in fright. 

“Don’t answer it,” the words burst out before you think them over. You don’t care about your friends right now. You don’t care about the bet.

You care about his fingers back inside you, curling and hitting that spot you’ve spent endless nights fighting to find without success. You care about getting his clothes off of him, of your eyes tracing over his skin and the ink you’ve yet to see. You care about his cock, springing to attention, before he’s sheathing it inside of you and bringing you both to utter bliss. 

A phone call is at the bottom of your priorities right now. You just don’t care. 

“It’s your phone,” he counters, glancing behind the two of you to where your phone is buried in the heap of black clothing, “I’m not answering it. But…”

“I’m not answering it, either.” 

“If we don’t answer-”

“Eddie, I could fucking care less,” you sit up roughly, leaning in as close as you can in the compromising position, “We’re not answering it.”

The phone continues to ring, and he looks between you and it in clear confusion, “They’ll just keep calling-”

“Let them,” you insist, “If you don’t get your dick in me within the next minute, I’ll call this entire thing off,” you add on the last part as you reach out and your legs fall off his shoulders, hands replacing where your knees once rested as you bring his lips into yours. 

Teeth, tongue, salt water, ash. It drowns out the final few rings as you continue to tug on Eddie feverishly, forcing him to rise from his position on the ground and kneel on the edge of the couch, a hand balancing him upright by gripping the back of the couch. Your kiss is all the convincing he needs. 

“Fuck, fine, fine, I-” he cuts off, removing himself from you long enough to shrug off his leather jacket, to reach up and grab the collar of his shirt, yanking it over his head. The bun has officially unraveled to completion, curls flowing down over his collarbones and shoulders. You can’t keep your hands off him, fingertips immediately pressing into the exposed skin, “Just give me a second.” 

He stands, and you whine, making him snicker as he kicks off the grey sweatpants.

“So impatient,” he teases, and you watch his face light up in delight as you can only bite your tongue in response. There’s something more there, something to be considered later. Later, when you aren’t aching for him. Later, when the moment of desperation has passed, when his waves retreat from your shores and you find yourself capable of breathing fresh air once more. 

Later is not now.

The moment he’s down to just his boxers, you’re done waiting, doing as he had for you and dropping your knees to the carpet below. 

“Hey, what are you doin-” he’s interrupted by you leaning forward, looking up at him intently as you kiss the tip of his dick through his boxers. Your lips come in contact with the wet spot clearly forming, and you can see the shiver roll down his spine, “Oh, fuck. What the Hell happened to me… me getting… me getting my dick in you…” He’s trailing off, unable to focus as your fingers slip beneath the waistband and tug down, his dick slapping against his exposed stomach.

“It still counts if you fuck my mouth,” is all you say as his boxers pool at his ankles, and you don’t even wait for him to step out of them. 

Your phone is ringing again. You can feel the vibrations through the floor as you wrap a hand around his base, as you lean forward and place a proper kiss to his leaking tip, swirling your tongue in the precum. 

This time, the two of you don’t argue about answering it. It’s hard to as your mouth is full of him, and his is full of curses.

“Jesus Christ, I- Fuck, right there,” he’s gasping as you wrap your lips around the tip fully, just as you’d done with his thumb, sucking gently and making his hand fly down to rest on the back of your head.

You bob down a few times, hollowing your cheeks and taking him deeper and deeper until your nose presses into the coarse hairs resting at the base. You pause, letting your nose press into him as you breathe deeply, feeling him hit the back of your throat. Your eyes water, just as he described, and you take pride in the way he can’t even look at you now. 

You pull back, letting him drop from your mouth, smiling widely, “Better than your hand, right?” 

“Fuck off,” his hand rest at the back of your head grips the hair there, tangling up as he shoots you a glare. 

“Say it’s better than your hand, and I’ll fuck you off,” you press, letting a hand travel to fondle his balls, pinching the skin delicately, watching his reaction roll through him like waves.

“I- Fucking obviously,” he hisses as you smile, leaning down and pressing kisses along the shaft, “God, of course your mouth is better than my fucking hand. Of course it fucking is.”

“It better be,” you goad before taking him back into your mouth. This time, you suck harder, and his grip on your hair is painful once more. 

“Shit.” 

He’s at a loss for words, devolving into guttural groans and babbling moans as you quicken your pace, determined now.

You wanted to ruin him. After a year of his bullshit, after suffering through every fight and every argument, every passive glare and every turbulent comment, you want to make them man standing over you crumble to pieces. 

Except he wasn’t just crumbling, he was shattering. Splintering apart as his hips started to thrust to meet your mouth, as you choked around him and refused to let up, resorting to stuttering inhales through your nose as you pressed your face back to his pubes, swallowing accidentally and making him nearly scream. 

“Shit. Shit- stop. I’m going to f-fucking cum, stop,” he’s pulling you off of him suddenly, gasping for breath, not letting you refuse and push him over the edge. 

You’re smug as you lean onto your heels, wiping your mouth clean of the spit that strings from your bottom lip to his red tip with the back of your hand. 

“I think I win,” you state plainly, as if you weren’t currently taking heaving breaths, desperate to catch your breath and have his hands back on you. 

“Win? Wh- It’s not a fucking competition,” he scowls, raking a hand down over his face, chest flush.

“It is, and I fucking won.”

“Yeah? You think you won, baby?”He recovers quickly, you’ll give him that. He goes from a complete mess to a force to be reckoned with in an absolute instant, stepping out of his boxers and kicking them from his warpath before he reaches down to tug you to your feet, “In that case, if this is a competition, I think I deserve a second chance.”

You open your mouth to be a smart ass, to say something cruel or something mean, but he steps back before you have the chance. 

The look of want has turned stormy, confident and eliciting. A hurricane beckoning to you as he snaps his fingers. 

“Take your fucking shirt off, and get on the couch, all fours.” 

“I-”

“Now.” 

There’s no more fires, no more oceans, and no more petty arguments left in you. You listen to him. 

You throw off the sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, as he goes to one of the tables beside the couch and opens a drawer roughly. 

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, unhooking your bra as well, fully naked and aware that his eyes weren’t on you yet, “You just keep fucking condoms in your living room?” 

“Who said I was looking for fucking condoms?”

“Oh, my bad. I just assumed. Should have known you were getting me naked just to go searching for fucking Narnia in your drawers.” 

You were wrong. He was looking at you, and you’re only made aware by the sharp slap across your bare ass at the comment. It makes you spin quickly, looking at him and his set jaw. 

“Couch. All fours. Now.” 

“You’re such a sore loser,” you snark, taking a few steps back, trying to ignore the way the sting on your backside has your clit throbbing. 

“You have no idea, baby,” he says without a hint of joking, looking back down into the drawer and continuing to dig as you turn away from him again. 

Despite feeling exposed, you do as you’re told – you get onto the couch on all fours as he requested, knees digging into a surprisingly soft cushion that surely hadn’t felt that way earlier in the night when you’d attempted to sleep on the piece of furniture. You don’t dare to glance back at him over your shoulder when the drawer finally slams shut, hearing his heavy breathing as he returns to you being enough to force you to shut your eyes and take in a sharp gasp. 

“Still feeling like a winner?” his voice winds around you, nearly choking you as you feel a feathering fingertip trail across your lower back. 

“Always,” you lie breathily, voice betraying you as it shakes. 

You feel the couch dip from behind you, legs spreading as Eddie fits himself between your calves, one hand latching onto your hip.

“God, I can’t wait to fuck the brat out of you.” 

Without warning, he’s lining himself up with your entrance and pushing in, taking all the breath from your lungs as you collapse down onto your elbows and your cheek brushes the cushion of the couch. 

It burns, his cock forcing you to stretch and accommodate you, filling you at an unbelievable rate. 

You knew he was fucking big, but you hadn’t considered the consequences until this moment, as he truly feels as if he’s just begun his ruining of you. 

“Fu-” the curse is lost in your throat, a small gasp as you press yourself down even further into the couch, mind swimming. 

“Oh, no,” he tuts, sounding completely unaffected until he leans down over you as he bottoms out. When he gets closer, you catch it – the hitch in his breath, the way he pauses before he can speak, “That won’t do, sweetheart.”

He brings a hand back to your throat, just as he had when you two first entered the apartment, when the fight for dominance first began. It’s more from the pressure of his forearm across your chest, but the pressure is still applied on both sides as he guides you to straighten up your body against him, making him hit new angles that have you hissing out. 

“I said on all fours, not just waving your ass in the air like some slut,” you clench around him at his words, and he chuckles breathlessly, “You like that, don’t you? You like being my fucking slut.” 

You can only moan in response as he slowly pulls back his hips, feeling every inch of him beginning to retreat from you at an agonizing pace. 

“You’re pitiful,” he groans into your ear, pressing his thumb further against your throat, cutting off the circulation for only a moment. Just long enough to send a rush to your head, “You say you hate me, say you can’t fucking stand me, but get cock drunk just from me putting it in. I’m only getting started and you’re speechless.” 

You can only continue your pathetic whimpers, reaching back to grasp onto him before he tuts once more. 

“Pathetic, baby.” 

He slams back in, letting you drop forward. This time, you keep yourself up on your hands, letting out more small gasps, all of the noises getting half stuck on your tongue. 

“But you’re winning, right?” he taunts, accentuating each word with a thrust as he begins to pick up his pace, “You’re the winner here, right?” 

You don’t answer him, nearly drooling when he reaches forward and grabs up your hair, curling it around his wrist carefully before he pulls. It hurts, it makes you clench down on him, it has you babbling out nonsense you’re completely unaware of. 

Each time he snaps his hips forward, his skin collides with yours, ricocheting off the walls around the two of you.  Your arms shake, but you stay steady, refusing to collapse beneath him and the euphoria that scathes you. 

He pulls your hair harder this time, making you arch your back into him, “Tell me you hate me.” 

You cry out, feeling him hit even deeper as his free hand forces your hips to meet every thrust. 

“Say it, baby. Tell me just how much you hate me,” he huffs out, clearly barrelling as quickly to his own release as you are, “Say you hate my guts,” another sharp thrust, and his balls slap against you, catching your clit and making your knees shake, “Say you can’t stand me. Go ahead, baby, say it.” 

“I hate you,” you weakly respond, eyes tearing up as you feel your gut twist. Your fire, your blooms, his ocean. He’s making good on his promise – he’s ruining you, and you’re reveling in the wake of it all. Embers char you from the inside out, and your brain fogs over in pleasure. 

“Say it like you mean it.”

“I m-mean it,” you gasp when he reaches around, chest pressing to your back, finger hovering over your clit, “Fuck, right there, please. I mean it. Please, please-”

“Say it again, like you really mean it this time, and I’ll let you cum.” 

He stills, deep inside you, waiting with bated breath as his chin ghosts over the back of your shoulder. You stare straight ahead. If you glance down, you’d find your hands turned to fists, his ring still glittering on your finger. 

He’s destroyed you. To unimaginable levels. You can’t comply with his request, not without becoming a liar, because it occurs to you that the man currently wrecking you is not a man you’re capable of hating. You hated the situation the two of you were in, you hated the year wasted, you hated the looming pressure of your friends awaiting a return call, you hated the words exchanged between the two of you with the intention of cutting deep. You hated many things surrounding him, but you didn’t hate him. 

At Eddie’s core, he is still the man you first met. He’s finally drowned you, dragged you to the bottom of his ocean, and you can see that now. The man that first reeled you in at the bar never left, simply shrank away, hid himself away from you for some unknown reason that you hate. The man that dazzled you, enticed you, provided you with the opportunity of safety still exists. 

“I hate you,” you grit out, fisting at the cover of the cushions, your entire body on edge. From him, from revelations, from a build of hate that had been misdirected for far too long. 

“Good,” he gasps out, mouth falling open and against your skin, teeth grazing you, “Then this changes nothing.” 

You don’t have time to ponder, or wonder why he didn’t mention the feeling being mutual. Once the words leave both of you, his finger connects with your clit, working an expert pattern that has you preening as his vigorous thrusting returns. It’s harsher than before, pain and pleasure blurring together as your scalp aches, your vines tighten, and your flames erupt. 

Your vision whites out, and you don’t hear your screams of relief as much as you feel them. Your throat is hoarse, tears leak from the corners of your eyes, and the tension vanishes from your muscles.

Your arms collapse finally, and you don’t fight the way your cheek presses against rough fabric as his hips begin to stutter, his own ecstasy flooding over him before he’s crashing with you.  

The two of you stay that way for a second, skin on skin, words lingering in the air, threatening to vanish. You don’t care – you match your breathing to his as he doesn’t pull out immediately. 

A vibrating comes from the floor amongst the shared bliss, both of you too fucked out to move to go answer the phone. The money doesn’t matter anymore, not to you. 

Everything aches. You come to realize just how rough the two of you had treated each other, pains ringing out from your throat, from your ass, from your abused cunt. Your knees are surely marked from the couch and floor alike, your scalp is screaming in relief without Eddie’s grip against it. 

You don’t regret it. You don’t regret any of it, except a singular lie.

I hate you. 

What a brilliant, foolish, laughable, bullshit attempt at a lie.

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