supervixen: the snippets | 1
dealer!eddie munson x reader
summary: the prequel; how your and eddie's beej-for-weed arrangement was born. 5.1k words.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, AGE IN BIO OR I WILL BLOCK YOU <\3. friends with benefits type situation. moderately botched seduction attempt. very inexperienced + subby eddie, soft dom type reader. hand stuff and a blowjob, eddie receiving, reader is implied fem with references to cleavage but her body is not involved. facial finish. eddie is supremely awkward. reader is much more experienced and gleefully promiscuous.
a/n: and here begins the snippets... the third major entry is in the works, but i simply love this pair too much to wait until it's finished before writing out some other little concepts i have in mind. and if y'all have any ideas of your own you'd like to see for these two, please feel free to send them my way!
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | the snippets
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Your plan is set before you even pick up the phone.
Eddie gave you his number for procurement purposes explicitly, and that’s exactly what you’re going to take him up on. You call him to ask if he'll be in to make a sale tonight, and he sounds genuinely happy to hear from you. When he tells you he’s looking forward to it, you know he really means it, and if nothing else solidifies your resolve, that sure as hell does the trick.
However it goes, you’ll be leaving with a bag of weed in your pocket. Probably. Assuming he isn’t so disgusted and appalled by the mere suggestion that he kicks you out of his trailer entirely, but you have a really hard time picturing that level of scandal on his face. Eddie is warm, laid-back, a comfortable presence through and through in your experience; and in all honesty, part of the reason the idea came to you in the first place is how convinced you are that he'll be cool about it whether he takes you up on your offer or not.
And, well, the better part of you has a hard time imagining that he won’t be interested in the first place. You can still see your most recent memory of him when you close your eyes; his handsome, smiley face, flushed pink from the drink in his hand, and the big, brown, wandering eyes he couldn’t seem to keep in check while his mouth was running. Fluttering all over you, taking frequent refuge in the cavern between your breasts.
The sun is nearly finished setting when you leave your apartment, and you pull your car up in front of what you hope is the correct trailer dressed, in all honesty, like a whore. At the very least, something out of a sleazy hair metal music video, and summer has lingered into the fall well enough to allow for it. Closing the car door behind you, it’s hard not to laugh at yourself as you adjust the top you’re purposely spilling out of, rectify the wedgie your Daisy Dukes are giving you. If you have to spell your proposition out for him, you will, but you’re sort of hoping you can pull it off with the power of sex appeal and heavy-handed innuendo alone.
You’re no stranger to hookups, casual arrangements, and even the rare one night stand, and typically, there’s enough tension built up at that point for the mutual interest to be clear and the sex itself to follow pretty naturally. But Eddie’s a little different than the guys you usually sleep with. More reserved, guarded—a gentleman. If he has thought about fucking you, he’s never once attempted to show it. All you really have to work with is your best guess and a possible subconscious intrigue you hope you’re accurately picking up on. It puts nervous butterflies in your stomach, but a little buzz of excitement too. Something tells you he’ll be very fun to play with.
You never gave Eddie an exact time of arrival, but when you step up the porch and knock on the door, the creak of footsteps and the sound of the lock unlatching start up in all of three seconds. Much sooner than expected, you’re met with Eddie pulling the door in, his eyes a little wild until they lock onto your face. It makes your heart pick up in your chest.
“Hey,” he says with an awkward smile. “I, uh…wasn’t expecting you so soon.”
Didn’t sound like it. “Sorry." You smile even wider and remind yourself to stay in character. “I just couldn’t wait to see you.”
Eddie blinks at that. “It’s…no problem,” he assures you, but then his eyes finally flick down from your face, and all is lost. He gawks, and the sight of it puts a wicked smile on your face. Standing there frozen, brow pinched and eyes wide, like the sight alone has short-circuited his brain—or at least, the question of why the hell you’re dressed like this to buy weed from him has. “...I, uh…”
Eddie himself is in his pj’s, which doesn’t surprise you, nor do the particulars of his outfit. He’s got a shirt for a band called UFO on and you catch the silver glint of a chain hidden beneath the collar. You’re pretty sure he always wears it. On the bottom, a pair of worn black lounge pants. White socks with gray toecaps.
“...Can I come in?” you ask once you're satisfied, pretending not to notice his hesitation.
Eddie jumps back in horror, making plentiful room for you to enter. “Fuck— Of course, yeah, come on in.”
You follow his invitation and step inside while he scrambles to close the door behind you. Your eyes flutter all over the space and you smile, taking stock of little details here and there. Warm and cozy, thoroughly adorned. The trailer seems lived in and loved—messy in an unobstructive way—and just as happy to have you as you are to be here.
“Excuse the mess,” Eddie says as he comes up beside you with his arms crossed and he clears his throat. “Our, uh— The maid took—took the night off, so… yeah.” He powers right on through the flubbed joke to save face. “Can I get you something to drink?”
You’ve been keeping your smile restrained, trying not to embarrass him any further. “...Sure. What’re you offering?”
“Water,” he says. His eyes are open more than they need to be, presumably in his determination to keep them above your shoulders. “We have water. Maybe some orange juice left. A few sodas, and, like, probably some beers too, which— Well, if you drove, you could just…take it with you, if you want.”
You know Eddie to have a mildly awkward energy at times but never like this, and you’re sort of in love with it. The outfit, if nothing else tonight, is definitely a success.
“A soda sounds great.”
“Right. Cool.”
With that, he scurries off towards the kitchen to fetch your request. He doesn't seem to notice you following right behind him.
Eddie opens the fridge and bends at the hips to look inside. “There’s uh…Coke, root beer…orange Fanta?”
When he goes to glance back towards where he left you, he startles significantly to find you next to him—right next to him. His eyes flicker up the length of you and pause on your face, baffled.
You let your smile grow a little wider. “Fanta sounds great.”
A beat passes before it processes and he shakes off his little trance to shoved his arm haphazardly into the fridge to retrieve it. “...Excellent choice,” he says as he presents it to you.
Instead of taking it, you stare at his big, pretty hand wrapped around the can. He isn't wearing all the jewelry he normally does, but he's still got a snake-shaped ring around his right pointer finger. “…Could you pop the tab for me?”
Eddie smiles at the request. “Of course,” he says, pulling it back in to jab his thumb under it. “My pleasure.”
“Thanks, Eddie.”
He hands the soda over and, for some reason, averts his eyes as you raise it to take a sip. You don't say anything for a moment, observing the way that he starts to get restless, maybe anxious, but tries to cover it up with casual mannerisms. Shifting his weight, tapping his fingers over his crossed arms, stretching his toes against the floor.
“So, uh… What can I do for you?” he begins eventually, presumably when the silence becomes unbearable. "Are you just looking for weed, or, y'know…some real party starters?"
You hum at the question, gulping down another sip. “...How’s your week going?”
The question catches him off guard and makes him wilt. “Sorry, yeah, shit.” His smile turns self-deprecating—he seems to cringe at himself. “Didn’t mean to just—skip over the pleasantries like an asshole. I dunno where my head’s at tonight."
“It’s alright,” you tell him. You're hoping its right where you want it to be. "I'm just curious. And I bet most of your customers aren’t really looking to stay and chat.”
“Yup, that’s—yeah.” He nods to emphasize. “I’m— I’m doing good. Great, even. My, um…” He hesitates for a moment, eyeing you like he’s trying to figure out if you actually care. You raise your eyebrows in interest. “...My band played a show on Tuesday, and we got a…bigger crowd than usual.”
You give him an honest smile. “That’s great.”
“Yeah, it was pretty sick." He chews on his lip for a moment. “What, uh— What have you been up to?”
You could give him a real answer, just as earnest as his was, or you could use it as a chance to flirt. You land somewhere in the middle.
“...Not much, honestly,” you sigh. “Work is…never worth talking about. Mostly, I've just been thinking about you."
Eddie seems to think he misheard you. "About…me?"
"Mhm," you confirm. You can't decide between letting your eyes wander or just maintaining the deep, unwavering eye contact you have been—the latter seems to be harder for him to deal with. "…A whole lot, actually."
He forces out a weird puff of breath, distantly related to a laugh. "I— What, is that a joke?"
"Not at all," you say, but clearly, you've lost him. "…I'm also thinking about an eighth."
"Right. Sure, yeah, no problem. Lemme just—"
Eddie happily accepts the opportunity to escape and you sigh, taking one last sizable gulp of your soda before setting it on the counter and waiting. He isn't catching on to your little hints, so it seems you'll have to beat him over the head with it—and here comes the moment of truth. When Eddie returns, bounding back down the hall with a plastic baggie of weed in hand, his curls flutter with the momentum as he swerves back into the kitchen with a grin.
"One eighth ounce of the devil's lettuce, as requested." He does something dramatic and silly with his voice, holding it out to you as his humblest offering, and it squeezes a happy little giggle out of you.
"Thanks, Eddie," you say as you accept the baggie, fiddling with its closure. "But the thing is, I'm…kinda short on cash."
"…Yeah?" You hate the way it makes his pretty smile retract. "How short?"
With a deliberate pout, you fish two dollars out of your pocket and hand it to him. It only takes him a half-second to count it.
"Uh… I can do a teenth for this much," he offers.
"I really want the eighth, though."
Eddie's brow furrows, slightly exasperated, but ultimately he shrugs. "I… Sure, okay. We can do a…friends and family discount. No problem."
Your eyebrows pop up in surprise—you didn't think he'd give in that easily. "You'd really do that for me?"
"I, uh…" He shrugs, scratches his cheek. "Well, we're friends, aren't we?"
"We are," you assure him. Maybe even better friends than you thought. "You're so sweet, Eddie, I can't believe it."
He just nods; not very happy about the situation, but making an honest effort to suppress. It's plenty to stir your sympathy.
"But, um," you go on pointedly. "…Maybe I can still pay you back, somehow."
"It's cool," he insists. "Really, it's—no problem. All of my friends get discounts."
You take a step closer, ideally small enough to slip under his radar. "I'll feel terrible, though, if I don't make it up to you."
Eddie's deeply puzzled frown almost makes you break character. "You don't need to feel terrible."
You clasp your hands behind your back, cock your head playfully askew. "Isn't there some way I can make it even?"
"…I mean, if you wanna pay me back the last two bucks some other time—"
"Oh, no, money's really tight," you correct. "But, well…"
You take a more obvious step, nearly close enough for your feet to touch, but it doesn't seem to shine a light through Eddie's powerful haze of cluelessness. His eyes, blind as they may be, are very pretty, and he has a pair of lips that a lot of women would kill for. You bite one of your own and try to picture how they'd feel on yours.
"…How about you help me out with this," you murmur, "and I can help you out with…something else."
"Uh… Like what?"
"Anything you want, Eddie."
He blinks at you, utterly baffled. His eyes flit around in hopeless thought and you have to stifle another giggle at the sight. Somehow, even with your promiscuous dress and vague, expansive promises, you can tell his head is nowhere near where you're trying to nudge it.
Daring to be bold, you raise one hand to pinch his chin and regain his attention. His eyes pop wider than you've ever seen them. "…I'm pretty good with my hands, for one," you do your best to purr. "…And my mouth, too. Lots of guys tell me I've got a really tight grip."
A flash of shock—almost hurt—passes over his face as it finally sinks in, and your heart drops instantly into your stomach. You lower your hand away from him at the same time he jerks back, and his face pulls so taut with irritation that you barely even recognize it. Eddie shakes his head and scrubs a heavy hand down his face.
“...Okay, that's not— Listen,” he spits. You've never heard him speak so sharply. “…Christ. I don't know what…rumor you heard, or who the hell told you that I would… I don't do shit like that, okay? At all.”
"I— Okay," you stammer, clearing your throat. Angry Eddie feels so wrong, the sight of it sets your nerves on fire. "But—"
“Just take the weed,” he tells you, waving flippantly. His mood has unmistakably dimmed, and it sort of breaks your heart. “You can pay me back some other time.”
This might just be the biggest botch-job of your life. “...Eddie, I'm—”
“It's fine,” he cuts you off. “Don't…worry about it.”
But his hard-set eyes tell the rest of the story: you should go.
Time stretches on as you recover and recalibrate, more awkward by the second. Eddie gets close to squirming, his jaw clenched tight—as horrible as you feel for causing it, "pissed off" looks pretty damn good on him. …Fuck it, you decide. This'll either make it a hundred times worse, or salvage it entirely.
Eventually, he huffs. “...Look, I don't wanna be an asshole, but…I was kinda in the middle of something before you showed up, so—”
"Can I kiss you?"
Eddie freezes mid sentence. "…What?"
"I just, um…"
Oh, screw it. With a quick stride forward, you hook your hand around the back of his neck and pull him into a kiss. A small one, short and quick in your anxiety, but you try to let it linger long enough to prove it's honesty, warm lips sticking together as you slowly pull back to look at him. A little dry, but just as plush as you imagined.
You’ve successfully stunned every ounce of affront off of his face and replaced it with pure, mute astonishment, his jaw hanging slack on its hinges—the perfect opportunity to plead your case.
"I didn't hear anything from anyone,” you assure him with wide-eyed sincerity. “I promise. I know you don’t do this sort of thing—or, at least, I figured you didn't—and that’s…kind of why I’m offering. You’re a good guy, Eddie. You’re…sweet, and super funny, and I think you’re really cute. I always have.”
All he does is keep staring at you with his big, big eyes, like he doesn’t speak a word of whatever language you’re speaking.
“...And,” you go on, letting your mischief rise to the surface, “ever since that party last week, I really…really wanna find out what you taste like, too.”
His eyebrows jump to the ceiling.
“We don’t have to do anything." You stroke a gentle thumb over the skin of his neck, smiling at the way his eyes flicker all over your face. "If you don’t want to, I’ll just pay for the weed—for all of it—and fuck off, and we can forget this ever happened. And hopefully still be friends. But, if you’re curious…I promise you won’t regret it. I wasn't lying about the tight grip—just for the record.”
His mouth hangs open dumbly for a few seconds before he can summon any words. "You… Is this…? Are you fucking with me?"
"Not in the slightest." You drag your hand down to rest on his chest, and raise the other to your heart. "Swear on my grandma, I wouldn't dream of it. Honestly, I'm only really offering because I want it so bad."
"You…want it," he repeats, still at a loss.
"It's a vice of mine," you explain happily, staring at his pretty pink lips as you speak—wondering what they'll look like when he's spilling out moans or biting them back. "I kinda have a thing for making pretty boys feel good. It really gets me going."
Eddie sort of looks like he might need to sit down for a while to process the bucket of water you've just dumped over his head, but then his eyes drop down to your own mouth and stay there with vehement focus. He twitches forward as soon as you start to lean back in, and you’re happy to indulge him with another kiss—longer this time, with a gentle rhythm that Eddie struggles just slightly to keep up with. You tease him with a few soft strokes of your tongue, guiding him ever-so-slowly backwards until he's up against the counter, and he tries, palpably uncertain, to copy your movements. When you break away again, you beam at him, and Eddie sucks in a long, stuttering inhale.
“You want to?” you ask with hushed excitement. "Want me to take care of you?"
He frowns a little at the question—embarrassed, no doubt. "Yeah," he breathes, head dipping in a curt nod. He can barely look you in the eye. “…Please.”
“Good manners,” you tell him with a pat on his cheek. "I like that."
There's a little pause, and Eddie's posture stiffens.
"Um, but, I haven't— I mean, I should probably…shower first, or—?"
You raise an eyebrow at him. "When'd you last shower?"
"Uh…this morning, but it was pretty warm today, so—"
"Don't worry about it," you assure him. "If I was scared of ball sweat, I wouldn't be offering."
Eddie snorts out a nervous laugh that probably wasn't supposed to escape. "Okay."
“Have you done this with anyone before?” you ask lightly, and you rub your hand over his chest, his shoulder, down his arm; trying to calm his anxious energy. What you’re really wondering is, has he done anything with anyone before, but you wouldn’t dare embarrass him by asking.
Eddie swallows. He opens his mouth like he’s going to speak, but ends up shaking his head with an awkward jerk instead.
“That’s alright,” you tell him with a growing smile. “...It’s pretty easy, actually. All you really gotta do is enjoy yourself."
"Okay," he mumbles again. "That's, um— Sounds good."
He scrunches his face—cringing at himself again—and you can't remember the last time you've been this charmed. You're dying to get your hands on him. "Can I touch you?"
"Yes—yeah, go ahead."
Slowly, so as not to startle him, you pivot to his side and lower your hand to cup his crotch, the growing bulge at the front of his pants, and a gentle knead tells you he's already well on his way to rigid. Eddie sucks in a breath and jolts in surprise, and you keep grinding your palm into him, letting him get used to feeling. The anticipation already has him close to panting.
"Sorry," he mutters under his breath as he jerks again, and you glance up at him with a sparkle in your eye.
"What for? You're doing your job just fine. I'm just, y'know, helping you along so I can do mine."
He just nods, red-faced and endearingly awkward. At this proximity, you have to suppress the urge to kiss him on the cheek.
It doesn't take much to help fill him out, so you move your attention to the drawstrings of his pants. "This okay?" you check as you start to untie the knot, and Eddie chokes out another stilted affirmative. You tug down his pants and underwear for better access and slip your hand inside to extract him, and the feeling of your hand brushing again his firm cock makes him visibly shudder.
"Jesus—Christ," he hisses through his teeth as you pull him all the way out.
The length of him resting in your palm, you stretch your hand out to give him a proper look with a warm hum. He's definitely above average; uncut with a graceful curve, a little thicker than you were expecting, and protruding from a verifiable shrub, as dark and wild as the hair on his head. It sort of makes your mouth water.
"Pretty," you tell him, cocking your head.
Eddie's wild eyes flicker up to your face. "…Yeah?"
"Very." You take your hand off of him just long enough to spit in it—Eddie's head twitches back like it startles him—and wrap your fingers around him for a lazy tug, spreading the lubricant and watching with pleasure as his foreskin scrunches up to hide his aching tip, then pulls back again to reveal it. "…And soft, too. I like it when guys are, um…intact, y'know?"
Eddie's too preoccupied to respond, maybe even to process what you said. He reacts to your languid stroking like it’s the first time someone else has touched him at all, dumbstruck by the mere image of your fist around his cock. You take it even slower, tugging and twisting from base to tip, letting him really savor the feeling.
"Shit," he gasps, staring down in awe. "…Oh, shit, your hand is—so fuckin' soft."
"Yeah? Feel good?"
He tries to swallow down a throaty grunt, and it makes a strange sound. "S'really good. …Really good."
Even slower, you wrap your fist tight and give him a long, luxurious drag, twisting over his tip and pausing there to push his foreskin back and tease your fingers along his slit. Eddie's head tilts back with a tight, muffled whine, already losing control over himself as his hips start to squirm.
"Wow," you can't help but tease as you watch him struggle. "You're pretty sensitive, aren't you?" Eddie nods a couple times, but it seems subconscious—like he'd agree with anything you said so long as you keep touching him. "…If you think that's good, just wait until you feel my mouth."
His face contorts with fear for his life. "…Shit."
You stop there in the interest of him lasting more than a couple seconds inside you and shift instead to stand in front of him again. He meets your stare with wide, spellbound eyes as you carefully lower yourself onto your knees. The sight of your face so close to his pulsing dick almost makes him wince, his eyes squinting shut in disbelief, and you grin up at him with the same sentiment. You've barely even gotten started.
"How is this…fucking happening?" he mutters to himself.
"Keep your eyes on me, Eddie."
And he does—with a pretty little knit in his brow. Wrapping a hand around his base, you open your mouth wide, rest his tip on your tongue, and moan out at the weight of it, the taste of salt. He must feel the vibration of it because he sucks in a breath and twitches subtly against your tastebuds. Greedy for more, you wrap your lips around him and begin to slowly swirl your tongue around his tip, and Eddie's entire body goes rigid, his hands clutching the edge of the counter for dear life.
"Oh, fuck—fuck!" It comes out painfully strained, and you raise your free hand to rub gently over his thigh, trying to relax him. You take him deeper, lips tightly enclosed, and start bobbing leisurely over a little less than half of him, wetting him up as best you can and watching his face with eagle eyes. It's less than a minute before his tense body starts to shake, his cock twitching erratically against your tongue, and when his head tips back and rising, breathy moans puff out of his wet lips, louder each time, you take your mouth off of him entirely and wait.
Eddie deflates immediately, panting to catch his breath. “Shit,” he hisses, squinting his eyes shut again—much too close to shame for your liking. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” you tell him, keeping a smile on your face until he opens his eyes to see it. “…I make a lot of guys cum pretty fast the first time. You’ll last longer when you get used to it, which is why I’m taking it so slow.”
“…Okay,” he breathes with a sweet little pout.
This time, when you get back to work, taking him gradually deeper, his eyes bore intensely into yours, his face twisted up with gorgeous pleasure that leans more and more towards anguish. It's not unusual—some guys are really, really into eye contact, almost more than you can tolerate—but for some reason, Eddie makes it feel different. He isn't staring at you to claim you, to evoke some illusion of control or domination; he looks disbelieving in the sweetest way possible, like he can hardly comprehend the way you're making him feel, let alone that you've chosen him, of all people, to make feel this way. Touched and astonished in equal measure, and it flows through your veins like heroine. You haven't even seen him orgasm once by your hand, and a part of you is already wondering whether he'd let you give him a second.
A couple more times you take him through the process, bringing him pretty close to the brink (with fairly minimal effort) and then taking a break until he calms down, but after his third near-climax, you decide you've trained him enough for one evening. At this point, his entire cock is sticky and drenched with saliva and pre-cum, and your tight suction along his length is obscenely loud and wet in the otherwise quiet trailer. The sound of it, along with Eddie's sweat-shiny, beautifully contorted face, his dark eyes staring down at you in an amorous trance, and the adorable little whines and moans that spill helplessly out of him with each shivering breath he takes—it all has your clit throbbing unbearably. You moan out your own wanton delight, muffled around the length of him, and you shift your hips around, trying to grind against the rigid seam of your shorts.
It might be the evidence of your enjoyment that does him in—when you moan even louder and your eyes twitch back, happily overwhelmed by the sensations, his body freezes up in panic.
"Oh, shit!" he whimpers. "Wait, I'm gonna—!"
"You're supposed to cum, Eddie," you pop him out of your mouth to remind him. "You wanna cum?"
Dumbstruck and stressed out, he takes a couple seconds to figure it out—then nods like the alternative might kill him.
"Then go ahead, baby. Whenever you want to."
It doesn't take long after that. You dip him back into your mouth, twist and tug and suck at him with all you have and use your free hand to cup and squeeze his balls, and within seconds, he's lurching right on back to the edge.
“Oh, fuck!” His voice cracks, and it’s music to your ears. His thighs shake and shudder, his entire body puffing up in anticipation, and he can't even look at you anymore, his eyes screwing shut in overwhelm. “Fuck, I can’t, I— Shit!”
Eddie might be the most responsive guy you’ve ever sucked off. Usually, you can learn to recognize the tells and anticipate the point of no return once you’ve brought someone there a few times, but Eddie’s pleasure crests with such clear and physical intensity that you time it perfectly on the first try—you take your mouth off of him, stroke him feverishly, and let the hot ribbons of his climax gush over your face. It mostly spills onto your right cheek and nose, one streak dangerously close to your eye.
He keeps whining and trembling until you set him free from your wicked grasp, and he catches his breath in ravenous gulps. You smile as his semen begins to slowly glide down your face, tilting your head back to manage it as you wait, excited to sate yourself on his reaction. When his eyes finally do open, he freezes up again, staring down at you in pure mortification.
“Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry," he sputters. "I didn’t mean to—”
“I did it on purpose, Eddie,” you assure him with a laugh. Jeez. You've never met a guy so convinced he's inconveniencing you by accepting an eagerly offered blowjob. You'll probably be smiling for days. “Thought you might enjoy the view. It’s pretty hot, huh?”
Halfway relaxing, he takes a long swallow, big eyes flickering over the mess you sucked out of him. “...Yeah,” he agrees, voice only half there. “It, uh… It is. Fuck.”
Beaming your smile even wider, you drag two fingers through the sticky mess on your cheek and slip them into your mouth to suck them clean. Eddie starts and drops his jaw like it’s the most scandalous thing he’s ever witnessed.
“Mm, see,” you hum, sucking your fingers out of your mouth with a pop. “I knew you’d taste good.”
Dazed and disoriented, Eddie raises both hands to rub harshly at his eyes and mutters under his breath. “...Jesus…fucking Christ.”
As much as you’d like to bask in his fluster for longer, you’re dripping—you tilt your face back dramatically to try and stop the mess from spreading any further.
“Do me a favor, handsome?” Eddie drops his hands and perks up in readiness—cute. “...Get me a damp towel, or—?”
He startles from head to toe. “Shit, yeah,” he curses, yanking his pants back up and springing into jittery action. “Fuck, of course, I’m sorry.”
You smile as you watch him go, but sigh on the inside. He's completely adorable, but if he wants to do this again, you’ll have to try and work on the sorry thing.
“...Don’t apologize, Eddie,” you call after him as he goes. “...I got exactly what I wanted here.”
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