(Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader) MDNI
summary: Eddie is a raging Demi-sexual with his first real crush and no ability to act on it on account of being as shy as hell is hot. So maybe you gotta bully him gently into action.
warnings: Smut, no use of y/n, abuse of the second POV, unedited, smut with plot, arguing as flirting, shy Eddie, mildly dominant reader, virgin, first time, hand job
a/n: This is pretty inspired by a Drabble I saw by @bambimunson and have been cooking on it for a few days. I’m on a little writing kick apparently. Please please PLEASE 18+ ONLY. And don’t feed my work into AI I work really hard :((
Eddie could count the number of sexual encounters he’d had on one hand, which… really was a generous way to say he was a flat dead virgin. Not for lack of trying to tackle that specific issue, he had made a few attempts with girls floating in the circles he entered. The pub, gigs, hell even a pretty gal who’d been in the local dnd community for a bit. It always tended to end the same way, a hot make out session, some wandering hands and he just… couldn’t get it up. Not that they weren’t hot as shit, or pretty enough, or really anything else.
He’d always had a nagging sense of unease, of removal and discomfort. He just.. wasn’t in it. He could barely cite their names, couldn’t remember their eye color when they closed their eyes, and he couldn’t tell you the first thing about them.
He didn’t get it. He would question it through the years, but never really had a proper label. His friends could fuck and turn out girls with the bat of an eye. But Eddie? Eddie couldn’t get his dick to stand.
That was, until you slid into place in his life. You walked the same line. Pubs, gigs, dnd, concerts, shops. He ran into you often, you chatted often. At first, you were a pretty smile and a collection of interesting conversations. Then you were a number in his phone book. A presence among his friends, and in his apartment. You were his friend, and one of the first girls he’d really gotten to know in any meaningful way since preschool when the alienation between genders started.
It was really just.. natural progression that he’d form a crush. Totally innocent, a small hint of flirtation he’d float your way, and you’d bite, just as small. It thrilled him, but he knew better than to jump feet first into murky waters. So it carried for weeks, regular conversations in irregular situations. You’d lay on the carpet in his bedroom, spinning a record from The Smith’s, and puffing a joint which sat between your lips. He’d try so hard not to stare at the state of you, your shorts, your fanned out hair, the scabs on your knees.
He’d flirt more. You’d meet him halfway.
He’d tease the lines and you’d tease them back.
He knew the ball was squarely in his court. His virgin, terrified court. So he never quite crossed those lines, never took his shot.
So maybe you changed the rules a bit.
Guys always made the first move. That was among the rules, in the book of dating, your friends had laid out when you were still young.
This time, for once in your life, you didn’t wanna be solely chased by some poor bastard. You had waited, and sat pretty for Eddie each time he floated an attempt your way. You stayed poised each time he set up his moment, but he never carried it out. You’d both hold your breath, and it’d pass.
The setting sunlight painted the carpet in heavy, beaming puddles of orange and yellow, spilling from Eddie’s open apartment window and breaking through parted blinds. You laid in the fixture of the receding sun, in the same way you did each time you ended up at Eddie’s.
The record player was dusty and well loved, its hinges creaking quietly as Eddie lifted the cover, the wood groaning. You waited, hand lifted and two fingers parted on a joint.
He slid the vinyl from its sleeve, the material crumpled from use but still intact. Your eyes moved from his steady hands as they lowered the track into its rightful place, instead finding the water stain on his ceiling you swore was getting bigger throughout the weeks.
Outside your vision, he fiddled, the crackle of power, the smooth lift of the lever, the distinct preamble before the music crackled to life.
The carpet dipped under his feet with each step, his weight moving between steps as he padded closer to you and sank down at your side. You fished in the back pocket of your jeans, lifting your hips to dip into the fabric. You pull free a small, pink lighter. It was due for replacement, but neither of you were quite ready to make that decision.
The flame came in a muted whoosh of air, then proceeded by quiet building lyrics. Your eyes landed on Eddie, whose gaze was already heavy on you. His eyes were rich earthy soil, widening a fraction as they were caught boring into your face. He smiled, shy and toothy all at once. “What?” He asked, a breathless huff escaping his parted lips.
You exhaled smoke in a controlled, slow breath, a small foggy cloud dancing in the rays of sunlight still painting you orange and gold. “What are you thinking about?” You pointed with the joint, motioning vaguely towards his head before then offering it to him, hand spreading.
He plucked it from between your fingers, bringing it to his own mouth, his drag much more urgent and rough than yours. He held it in his lungs as he responded. “That I like this song.”
You muse, a quiet rumble of sound somewhere in your chest and throat. Shifting your weight, you raise on an elbow, bringing your eye line closer to his own. His gaze never leaves you, still heavy, still searching.
Your legs cross underneath you, body sagging to place your elbows on your knees, letting your posture retain its lazy bend. “What’re you really thinking about?” You insist, noting the way his silver rings look almost gold in this light.
His eyes flicker away from you finally, their weight lingering on you despite their absence. He’s smiling, an awkward, shy thing that hides behind his lifted hand and the joint in it.
He takes another drag, slower this time. You watch his throat move, his chest rising. “You always do this.” He points out, tracing the edge of your silhouette but not quite brave enough to look at you again. “Come here, lay on my floor and.. I dunno. I was just thinking it was funny.”
You stiffen a bit, considering the implications. Did he dislike it? Had he begun to resent your presence?
He seemed to read your thoughts, his mouth rushing to fix his earlier statement, to sooth away the crease between your brows. “I like it,” he added, holding his hand out, open, palm down as if to physically halt your doubts. “I guess I was just wondering why you keep coming back?”
“Oh,” your lips linger in their parted position, forming around the sound despite its short lived nature. You lift a hand to quizzically cup your jaw, pursing your lips as if he’d asked you a difficult question. You hum, narrowing your eyes towards the ceiling. “Hmmm, mayyybee… I like hanging out with you…?”
He scoffed at your sarcasm, tossing his extended hand upward to swat away the very air of you before letting it land on his knee where it rested against the carpet.
You roll your eyes, lifting to your knees to shuffle closer. Your back meets his mattress as you turn to sit side by side with the man, taking his joint from his fingers. “I do.” You add quietly, not daring to look at him. It was your turn to hide behind the joint, taking a slow, prolonged pull of smoke that made your lungs sputter.
Eddie is brave enough to look at you, though he’s forced to rub his palms against the faded fabric of his ripped jeans to do away with the sweat collecting in his palms. He felt pathetic, getting so nervous just sitting near you. How was he supposed to do more if just looking at you made his stomach tie itself into knots?
“I..” he begins, and quickly ends as he realizes he doesn’t know how to respond to that. It wasn’t like he was some all hated, unloved freak who’d never received a compliment in his life. But he suddenly felt like one, like every other compliment he’d ever been given was suddenly obsolete because you had just so plainly admitted you liked spending time with him.
“You’re so gross.” He teased instead, sliding easily into something safe, something known. “Don’t get all sappy on me.” He bumped your folded leg with his arm, chuckling quietly to himself, despite the inward cringe running cold in his stomach and chest.
“You asked.” Your huff wasn’t annoyed, but it was quiet and accompanied by a lazy eyeroll. Eddie didn’t miss it, and felt suddenly.. forlorn. Like he’d personally strangled his chance at you in this moment.
His brows creased, a lump in his throat as his eyes pressed closed. His fingers tangled through his hair, one hand pushing curls flat along one side of his head. “It’s just,” he let a harsh breath escape his lips. “Why?”
“Why?” You echoed, and he could feel your gaze without needing to open his eyes.
You didn’t respond immediately. He feels your weight shift beside him, and he fears the sight that’d greet him if he looked now.
“Sometimes, when I’m with you, I wish time would just stop.”
He looks at you. You’re staring at him.
“Yeh?” He asks, a breathless grin finding its way across his lips.
He wants to ask more, and he’s sure he will, as soon as the goofy grin eating away at his face lets up. It doesn’t, and he’s too impatient to wait it out. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You huff frustratedly at him, fingers twitching around the joint before stubbing it out in the nearby ashtray. “Nothing. It’s stupid.”
He clicks his tongue, chasing you in your retreat. His face moves back into your line of sight, his long limbs carrying him across the carpet as he leans nearly over you, chest meeting your knees. “No no,” he insists, lifting onto his knees to lift his hands from the ground.
They feel clumsy and thick as they come up to land on your knees, pushing you deeper into the mattress edge and the carpet to keep you from moving, pinning your legs to your chest and making you feel smaller than usual.
“What’s that mean?” He asks again, his head moving aside to chase your avoidant gaze before upward as it flickered away again. He speaks your name with a firm, commanding grin and you finally still.
Your brows furrow, expression hard and frustrated but he can see the color creeping into your skin even as his figure casts dark shadows across you.
You are stubbornly quiet for a second before sucking in a reluctant breath. “You haven’t figured it out already?”
He shakes his head, encouraging you with a tilt quickly after.
Your hands wring around themselves, nerves and fear clashing all at once.
You get now why he’s always shied away from saying or doing anything.
“I like hanging out with you.” You repeat, harder this time like that could answer the bigger question if he’d just consider the implication.
“Why?” He urged, and the conversation was giving you déjà vu.
You stare holes into his face, desperate and frustrated. A frog jumps in your throat and your jaw clenches. “I like.. you.” Your hands still and your eyes silently plead with him to use his stupid brain for once.
He blinks down at you, his hands feeling too heavy on your skin, still pushing you weakly in place. He opens his mouth to make a smart retort, but finds himself hesitating.
His lips close with a small, rough exhale.
It wasn't enough. You liked him. But why? In what way? He was being unfair, forcing you to do the heavy lifting. He knew it blatantly, and yet couldn’t force himself out of the motions of it.
“Eddie,” you spoke again, commanding and shaky. He nods to show he’s listening. You chew your lip. “This isn’t fair.”
He chuckles hoarsely, mouth feeling dry and useless. “I know.” It’s a mumble of sound but it’s enough to make you frown at him.
You push at his chest in a sudden motion that makes him rock back a bit, catching himself with one hand and giving you a look of wide eyed surprise. “Do something.” You urge, huffing. “Anything.”
He gapes at you for a second too long, mouth parted open and eyes blinking wide like a fish pulled right from the sea and forced to face the sun.
He stammers, half chuckling and half trying to brush you off as his free hand waves between you two, trying and failing to clear the air.
“Eddie.” You complain, throaty and impatient as your fingers wrap loosely around his wrist and hold him still, forcing him to stop.
He’s red. Had he been that color this whole time? It wasn’t the light dusting that’d become a permanent fixture in your presence. He was damn near nuclear red, like hot metal.
He deflated in a huff, falling back to plant his ass in the carpet, his legs sprawled against yours in a messy tangle as you unfolded yourself from the ball he’d curled you in. You crept forward, onto your knees again to invade the edges of his personal space. His head hung back, eyes closed but face turned towards the ceiling.
You could practically hear the thud of his heart against his ribs, a dull hammer in his chest that made breathing feel akin to manual labor.
You stopped short of him, hands flat on his thighs and knees digging into the carpet between his parted legs. He lifted his head to look at you, still sagging into his hands.
He mulled his thoughts, chewing at the full skin of his bottom lip before muttering out an indignant. “Fine.”
You perked at the word, spine straightening like a taunt cord. He didn’t move immediately, just stared through his bangs before creeping forward.
One hand cradled underneath your arm, near the edge where your shirt sleeve met the body of your t-shirt, encouraging you to meet him halfway as his face dipped forward.
Your mouths hovered for a second too long, like the final stretch of distance between you was taped off in concrete walls by a world of doubt and anxiety. Eddie moved through it in a final tilt of his head, his lips slotting with yours in an awkward, warm press of mouths.
It wasn’t sparks of lightning like you’d read about in books, or fireworks booming behind your closed eyes. It was all tingles and sensation. The pressure firmed, less a brush of lips and instead more solid, tangible.
His mouth parted with a throaty exhale, his head dipping to angle sideways. You squeezed your eyes tighter closed, shyly letting your jaw slack open. His tongue teased the small gap between your lips, a faint smile touching his expression before his hand lifted from your arm to tuck your cheek into his palm.
He guided you with him, a slow dance of teeth and tongue, of languid kisses and breathless exhales.
The room spun in sharp dizzying circles around you, the smell of smoke and the taste of weed staining your senses and bleeding into the almost spicy scent of his breath.
When he pulled away, you felt clumsy and out of place, eyes opening almost fearfully. You’d expected to find his goofy grin or teasing eyes. He was avoiding your gaze instead, shrinking into himself. It was strange to see someone as loud and overtaking as him.. shy.
“What?” You managed out, insecurity bubbling to the surface and gnawing you raw from the inside out until you felt the sharp, cold prick of rejection taking root.
“Nothing.” He spat, defensive and clipped, his legs shifting underneath your hands and attempting to close despite your position between them, leaving you bracketed by his knees. His hand dropped from your face to his lap, palm down and spread to hide beneath. “Wait-“
Your gaze dropped with his hand, catching the difference of his usually loose jeans, which now seemed uncomfortable and tight where his hand hovered. You froze. He was quick to lean forward off his opposite hand, catching your face to turn your gaze back up.
The gears in your head turned in slow, lazy motions, sputtering and not quite able to click the information together properly. Or maybe you didn’t want them to.
Eddie looked utterly caught, sweaty and red and unable to meet your eyes, his own fluttering around at anything but the face held in his hand.
“You’re hard.” You stated, blunt and questioning all in one. Eddie glared.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious, I hadn’t noticed.” He gritted out, tugging the fabric of his jeans to create some form of give.
Why, in all the years he tried, did his stupid dick wanna pitch an angry fit now? When you were only kissing, barely touching him and looking at him like a deer in headlights?
He cursed all the times he’d fisted the stupid hellian to the thought of your smile, the way you said his name, to every tiny detail about you that nestled in the folds of his useless, stupid brain. He’d fucking Pavloved himself to pop a boner at the worst times. Now here he was, caught red handed in the face of it.
Your hands, which still rested on his thighs, squeezed gently and your body leaned a fraction further towards him as if gravity itself urged you deeper into his orbit. He was almost inclined to lean away, to gather up what dignity he had left and bolt far, far away from you.
His eyes snapped up to yours, and it was his turn to be frustrated. “That’s a stupid fucking question.”
You smiled, biting at your bottom lip in a half hearted attempt to stop. “I thought you liked stupid questions.”
He huffed, chest heaving under the weight of his discomfort and the deep seated ache he was experiencing.
Were you making fun of him?
“Fuck you.” He spat and you closed your mouth, biting at the skin of your lip. He watched, attention rapt.
You edged ever closer, lifting your face level with his to find his mouth with yours. He was stiff but melted fractionally into the press of your lips.
Your thumb pet at the pocket seam of his jeans, reminding him where it rested before letting it lift, slow, shaky and so so shy. Your fingers brushed underneath his hand where it hovered at his jeans, sliding into the space that he’d been so intent on hiding. His fingers flexed, gripping yours instinctively.
A small nip at his bottom lip had him shuddering, his grip on you loosening. Your palm sank, meeting the rough fabric of his jeans again, and curling into the fullness underneath.
His breath punched out of him, his mouth stilling against yours as his attention strayed.
“Wait- wait-“ he gaped as you gave him a firm, exploring stroke, your thumb and pointer meeting around what you could only guess was the ruddy head of his dick.
A low, pained noise rumbled from his throat making you pause, pulling back from him only enough to look at his face, already dewy with sweat. His eyes were tightly closed, a lip curled slightly to expose teeth. His jaw worked, shallow breaths pulling from him and you suddenly felt a little guilty.
“Want me to..” You let your fingers slack partially, drawing back to retreat but his palm pressed over yours, pinning you in place. He shook his head, his curls bouncing in the sharp motions.
“No… no, it’s..” the brown of his irises came into view through his dark lashes, his lids parting in a slow, shy manner before his eyes lifted to meet yours. You offered a tiny smile, hair falling into your face as your head dipped one way. He huffed quietly, turning away from you again. His weight slacked backwards, his torso dipping from your proximity and landing on his elbows.
His curls fell across the carpet, his head falling back and revealing the length of his throat. The milky skin was flushed there, too. For a moment, you thought about what’d it’d be like to settle your lips there, or your teeth. A place so intimately his, where his scent would be so strong and so inescapable.
You hadn’t realized you were moving until your nose bumped clumsily into his Adam's apple, lashes fluttering as you pulled him into your lungs. It wasn’t exactly what you’d expected. It was spicy in nature, like damp cinnamon sticks, but heavy and earthy- the weed no doubt, maybe cigarettes.
“What’re you doin’?” His voice rumbled underneath you, his throat moving around the words and making his Adam’s apple bob.
He was watching you when your face lifted to greet him. His brows were furrowed, his expression almost frustrated but really he was just overwhelmed. The stiff set of his sprawled out body told you that much.
You didn’t know how to respond for a long moment, feeling caught with your hand in a cookie jar. Finally, you formed the words. “Got curious.”
He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, his head lulling back again. “Weirdo.” He mumbled, no more than a grunt really.
You stayed just like for a moment, your hand cupping his erection, your face hovering close enough to study his ever moving face, your body perched over his, held up on your free hand where it sat planted to his side.
His eyes squeezed closed for a lingering second, a breath escaping his lungs from parted lips before he sucked his supple bottom lip between his teeth to worry.
“I’ve never..” he mumbled finally, eyes blinking open and risking a glance towards your face, which was notably fixed in an expression he couldn’t read with a map and a tour guide. You tilted your head in encouragement, urging him to keep talking.
He didn’t, closing his eyes again. Instead, his fingers pressed gently into the back of your hand and his hips stirred underneath you, angling up to rut into your palm.
You tried to push, craning your body closer until you were nearly laying on top of his laid back figure, separated by a mere inch. “Never what, Eddie?”
He cursed quietly, beads of sweat becoming apparent on his brow and cheeks, likely from the blood pooling under his flushed skin. “You know,” he cocked his head to nod towards you, avoiding saying the words out loud.
“Fucked anyone?” You supplied, the words feeling crude and out of place put together on your tongue.
He rolled his eyes again. “No- I mean- yes- I haven’t.. done that yet but,” his lips formed a line and he briefly met your gaze, trying to urge you to understand.
You understood. You wanted him to say it.
He seethed, the dying amber light of sunset catching his teeth before, finally- finally- he frustratedly snapped. “I’ve never been touched like this before.”
You almost wanted to praise him for finally raising to meet you halfway. Well, it was more seventy thirty, but you were feeling generous and the point still stood.
“Do you want me to stop?”
His startled expression boarded on panicked at the mere notion. “Jesus H. Christ- no.”
Your tongue poked into your cheek in thought, your eyes flickering between his, his warm eyes dark as the sun sagged behind the Earth and gave into the dusty blues and purples of night. Yet, unexplainably, he looked so damn soft.
“I have an idea.” You murmured, giving him a testing squeeze before sliding your hand free from his, taking away the pressure and heat of your palm. He almost thought it to be merciful, if not for the gut wrenching disappointment that came with it. “C’mere.”
He lifted with you as you crawled off him, pulling his arms with regardful but insistent tugs until you were both tumbling into his bed. Anxiety and terror and excitement thrilled through him all at once as his sheets crumpled underneath your shifting and scooting.
His back pressed to your chest, his body cradled by yours and your sides pressing into his springy mattress. One of your arms looped underneath his body, hand splayed across his chest to tug up his distress band tee, and the other circled across his hip and waist.
“How’s this?” Your breath fanned the back of his neck, musing curls, chin propped against his shoulder blade before dipping to replace with your cheek.
Eddie’s brain was still catching up, still trying to figure out what ‘this’ was. Regardless, he nodded. You clicked your tongue and he jumped to speak. “It’s uh- good. It’s- what are we doing?” The caution in his voice made you snicker.
He swallowed and did exactly that. Watched in the dim light as your hand fumbled with his belt buckle, lonesomely accomplishing what he likely couldn’t do with both of his own shaking hands. His jeans parted open, the button and zipper giving you much less grief, before your fingers dipped into the waistband of his briefs.
You didn’t go for his dick immediately. Instead, you traced the path of his happy trail with a firm drag of fingertips, letting it lead you naturally towards the base of his saluting erection. Your pointer and middle finger parted opposite of your ring and pinky, surrounding the base of his dick.
Curls gathered against your palm, your thumb petting them down lazily, with no real intention. You hummed into his shoulder, questioning and encouraging all at once.
Eddie had been holding his breath, noticeably. He let it all out in one miserable exhale, his unsure hands finally deciding they needed to be holding something. He decided on you, one hand perching on your hip where it laid behind him and the other gripped yours where it gathered his tee, fingers clinging to your wrist.
You bit back a chuckle, lifting your hand higher to sweep your fingers together and to one side of his dick, curling them along the veiny underside. Eddie shifted, lifting one thigh and pushing himself into your hand.
Your touch firmed, wrapping properly around him and stroking upward, towards the tip of his length. And hell, if he didn’t have quite a bit of that. He was thick at the base, but bulged slightly along the underside, making your fingers spread wider to accommodate.
He jerked as your thumb pet across the weeping slit of his cockhead, spreading messy precum. You chewed your bottom lip, closing your eyes to imagine what he looked like. You wondered if his skin was just as pale there too, or if he'd be flushed like his face had been- like his face still was.
“Shit-“ he grumbled, his head turning towards his pillow to muffle a broken sound as you gathered the slick droplets with your fingers and stroked him loosely, focusing on the needy, more sensitive head of his cock.
He pulsed in your hand, jumping and jerking in time with strangled, gasping sounds from his parted mouth. You regretted not being able to watch his face as he made those pretty sounds. You just knew he’d look so perfect with his expression screwed and flushed.
His hips, which he’d been trying to keep still, spasmed and rutted each time your hand dropped from tip to base, coating his cock in his own pre. Your name tore from his mouth and you felt your thighs ache before pressing together, trying to dull the needy bloom between them.
“Ah- fuck!” Eddie cursed as your hand tightened around him, brave enough to squeeze him a little tighter. You kept your cheek pressed to his shoulder before growing shy and turning to hide your face between his shoulderblades, tucking yourself tighter against his lanky frame.
Slowly, you grew more insistent. Eddie didn’t have the wherewithal to stop his hips from rolling to meet the repetitive glide of your hand, creating a messy, sloppy rhythm. The slick sound of skin on skin was horrifyingly embarrassing- he had really made such a mess?- but Eddie couldn’t even begin to process that shame when his senses were already in such a state of disarray.
His breaths punched out in throaty groans, trailing whines and needy keens that only spurred you on.
“You gotta- I’m- wait, I’m gonna-“ He couldn’t even string the words into order, his brain drawing blanks and his mouth falling open to tear much needed air into his lungs.
You held him on a cliffs edge, and Eddie wasn’t sure if he was even supposed to be there.
“Yeh?” You asked his back, words spoken straight into the column of his spine.
You didn’t really need an answer, you basically had it in your hand. His cock was throbbing in your grasp, sharp and hard enough to send shivers quaking through his body each time your fingers squeezed the head of his cock before dipping again.
He nodded anyways, expecting you would stop, expecting that you wouldn’t want to pull that out of him.
You nodded in understanding and pulled him by his chest, pressing kisses against the back of his neck as you picked up the pace of your strokes.
You’d watched enough porn to know this part was messy, usually carried out by desperate, fast strokes and you weren’t gonna torture the poor guy more than necessary.
Thing about porn though? Most of those guys' dicks were half numb from overuse and too many people touching them. Eddie, on the other hand, was sensitive as all hell.
You had essentially spartan kicked him off the damn cliff, for lack of better phrasing.
His orgasm smacked him like a stop sign in a tornado, his body going stiff and rigid as it locked up, his mouth falling open in a sob as he snapped apart like a dropped Lego set.
His thighs shook as he painted the inside of his briefs, soaking through the cotton material and your fist with sticky, thick streaks of his spend.
You slowed to a stop as the last of his moans turned into whines, more wince than pleasure, but didn’t let him go just yet.
Eddie’s chest was heaving and your arm burned from the effort. How did guys do that? You felt sore. Eddie was the first to move, shifting to roll from his side to his back without knocking you with his shoulder or squishing you. You slipped your hand from his underwear as he did, holding it up and away from the both of you to avoid spreading the mess from its local residence.
Eddie’s eyes met yours, face burning with color and sweat clinging to his skin, along with messy strands of hair. You reached to push them away before catching yourself and retracting your hand before it had the chance to contaminate his poor face. Instead, you slid your other arm free and used that hand.
He gave you a weak, entertained laugh and you tilted your head at him, a smile touching your own lips.
“It’s not like- radioactive, ya know?” He motioned towards the sticky cum clinging to your skin.
“Eh, basically.” You hummed, giving your own arm a narrow eyed look over before shaking your head solemnly. “I think I’ll have to amputate.”
He rolled his eyes dramatically and lightly tapped your cheek with his knuckles in the most pathetic slap of your life. If it could even be considered a slap.
“I’ll get the med kit.” He pretended to fumble for a nonexistent first aid kit on his nightstand, instead knocking over an empty beer can and cursing under his breath. He peered over to make sure it was as empty as it sounded before returning his attention to you.
You were staring expectantly at him. He blinked a few times before his eyes popped open wider in understanding and he sat up in a quick motion, making his fuzzy head spin. “Oh- shit, right- yeh.” He fumbled to tuck his dick back into his sticky underwear, cringing at the feeling and sprung out of the bed to scrounge for a shirt or something he could use to clean you up.
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