My name is Abdelmajed.
I never imagined I’d be sharing my story like this, but life in Gaza has become unbearable. I am a survivor of the war here, and in the blink of an eye, everything I once knew—my home, my safety, my community—was ripped away from me.
The war has transformed Gaza into a graveyard of broken dreams. The buildings that once stood as symbols of life and resilience are now piles of rubble. Every corner is filled with the echoes of explosions. Every moment is shrouded in uncertainty. There is no security. There is no stability. There is no light at the end of the tunnel.
Basic needs have become luxuries.
Food is scarce. Clean water is even scarcer. Hospitals are overwhelmed and under-resourced, and there is almost no medical care to be found. Every night, families go to bed hungry, praying they’ll wake up to see another day. The cost of basic necessities has skyrocketed, and it’s become a daily battle just to survive.
I’ve seen things I never thought possible—standing in long lines for a piece of bread, rationing every drop of water, and watching my people suffer in silence. I have lost everything—my home, my safety, my dignity.
Escape from Gaza is my only hope,
but it’s almost impossible without financial help. The cost of evacuation is far beyond my means, and without support, I’m trapped in a warzone with no way out.
I’m reaching out to you now, in the hopes that someone, anyone, can help. I am not asking for luxury. I am asking for a chance—just a chance—to live. A chance to escape this never-ending cycle of fear, destruction, and loss. A chance to rebuild my life somewhere safe, where I can begin again, where I can find hope once more.
Any amount you can give will help me get closer to safety.
Even the smallest donation will make a difference—it could be the lifeline I need to survive. If you are unable to donate, please share my story. The more people who hear it, the better the chance that I can find the support I desperately need.
Your kindness and support mean the world to me. You’re not just helping me escape a war; you’re giving me a chance to live, to rebuild, to breathe again.
Thank you for listening. Thank you for caring.
Vetted by @gazavetters
My name is Abedmajed Elderawi, and I live in Gaza with what remains of my once large and loving family.
"I am Nadine… an ordinary woman in an extraordinary place. A mother, just trying to protect a small life in a world that has lost its meaning." 🌸
Hello, My name is Nadine. I am a Palestinian mother to a little girl who has become the center of my life and the reason for my strength. 💖 We live today in harsh circumstances, unlike anything we knew life to be. Our home is no longer a home… we live in displacement, fear, lack of food, absence of medicine, and a lack of safety. 😔
Yet every morning, I open my eyes to my daughter's face, and I try again. 🌞 Because she is here, I must stay strong. 💪 Because she is small, I need to create a safe world for her… even though my world is broken.
We don't have much, but we hold on to each other. 🤝
I write these words to share a moment of our reality that you may not see in the news. I’m not seeking pity, nor do I want to burden anyone… All I ask is that my words reach a heart that knows compassion, and understands that help, even in the smallest form, can make a big difference in someone's life like ours. ✨
Life here doesn’t go as it should… but it goes on. We live on hope, the kindness of strangers, words of encouragement, and hands that reach out at the right time. 🌟 Maybe you can’t change everything, but you can change one day in our lives… And one day with dignity is all we need to keep fighting. 💫
My name is Nadin I’m a mother, a wife, and just one of many women in Gaza who are trying to hold on — to hope, to our families, to any piece
Even a kind word, sharing this post, or a sincere prayer… all of that makes a difference to us. 🙏
Thank you… from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for being here, for reading, for not turning a blind eye. To everyone who passed by here and left a kind mark: You are part of our strength. 🌷 From me and my little one: All my gratitude and all my prayers. 💖
My name is Mosab, and I’m writing this with honesty and humility.
I live in Gaza, where war has taken nearly everything from me — my home, my safety, and 25 members of my family, including my beloved mother, siblings, and their children. I’ve been displaced multiple times. Every day here is a struggle to survive.
In the face of this, I turned to the internet — not because I wanted to beg, but because I truly had no other way.
🧭 What Happened
A few months ago, a friend helped me create a GoFundMe campaign:
🔗 https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-me-saving-whos-left-of-my-family
Unfortunately, I could not continue working with the person who set it up. As a result, it was closed — and I had to start over again, this time on Chuffed, where I could manage everything myself.
I am the same person behind both campaigns — same story, same face, same truth. I only changed platforms to regain control and transparency.
💔 Why I Created Multiple Campaigns
I didn’t just make one campaign. I also helped create campaigns for my loved ones:
My wife Nadin, who’s caring for our 11-month-old daughter in these terrible conditions
My brother Abedmajed, and his wife Saja
My nephew Naser lost his mother (my sister) and his sister in a missile strike that hit our family home. That same strike also killed:
My mother
My other sister
My older brother, his wife and their daughters - all gone
My uncle, his wife, their sons, and grandchildren — all erased as well
That home was the heart of our family. And in one moment, it was gone — along with so many people I loved.
Naser, still a teenager, now takes care of his three younger brothers alone. His life — like mine — was shattered in an instant.
We are all in Gaza. We are all real. And we are all trying to rise, together.
⚠️ My Mistake
At the beginning, I made a big mistake.
I was so desperate to get our stories seen that I created multiple Tumblr accounts to send messages and reach more people. I didn’t understand that this would upset users or lead to the campaigns being flagged as spam.
I see now how that felt for others. And I am deeply sorry.
I never meant to deceive or annoy anyone. I was simply trying to survive — and to help my family survive. But I know now that good intentions don’t excuse bad methods.
🔁 What I’m Doing Now
I’ve spoken directly with Chuffed.
I’ve closed all old campaigns.
I’m keeping this account — @mosabsdr — moving forward.
I will be creating new, respectful, honest campaigns for myself and my loved ones.
I will reach out to GazaVetters again to explain and hopefully clear any misunderstandings.
🌱 Moving Forward
From this point on, everything I share will come from the heart — no pressure, no spamming, no noise. Just our truth, told with honesty and dignity.
If you’ve followed me, donated, or shared anything in the past: thank you from the bottom of my heart.
If you were hurt or bothered by how I reached out before — I truly understand. I hope you can see that I’m learning, and trying to do better.
This war has destroyed so much — but we are still here, and we are still rising.
My name is Mosab Elderawi.I live in Gaza. And I’m trying to start again after losing more than I ever thought possible.
If you wish to stay with us on this journey, I welcome you with deep gratitude.
If not, I still thank you for reading and giving me your time.
I’m a survivor from Gaza, holding on to hope in a world that has fallen apart around me. 💔
The life I once knew — my home, my family, my sense of safety — has been shattered by war.
Today, I live among the ruins, trying to find a path forward through the rubble and heartbreak. 🏚
Every moment is a battle against fear and uncertainty.
What was once ordinary — a safe place to sleep, a future to dream of — now feels like a distant memory. 🕊️
I share my story not to seek pity, but to keep hope alive — to believe that even in the darkest places, kindness can still find a way. 🤍
If my story touches your heart, please consider sharing it or offering support.
Every voice, every act of care, brings me one step closer to safety. ✨
I’m reaching out with a quiet hope in my heart. These days are heavy, and my family is living through a reality filled with uncertainty—but I’m still here, doing my best to hold on and keep going.
If you have a moment, please check out my pinned post.
A simple share could help it reach someone who might be able to make a difference.
If you’re able to give, even the smallest kindness can bring light into the darkest places.
Your time, your voice, your compassion — it all matters more than you know.
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your boyfriends, wake you up with something better than cake.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, mdni 18+, fem reader, food play, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, daddy kink if you squint, this is reader centered so no mlm action.
𝐚/𝐧: ITS MY BIRTHDAY, BUT THIS BLURB IS MY GIFT TO YOU.
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The sun rays beam through your curtains, making you groan and stretch before burrowing your head into your fluffy duvet. You’re not ready to face the day yet, although it is your birthday. But if the empty spaces beside you are anything to go by, then your boyfriends are probably downstairs preparing something special for you.
Just as you suspected, loud pots clank together along with Steves barely audible shushing, making you giggle as you continue snuggling into your warm, comfy bed.
Before you realize you’ve even shut your eyes and began to drift off, footsteps and whispered chatter has your eyes reopening and a small yawn leaving your mouth as you turn toward the door to see what’s going on.
It opens slowly before your boyfriends come sauntering inside, twin smirks on their pretty faces.
“Good morning, Birthday girl.” Eddie says with a teasing glint in his brown eyes.
“Good morning, baby.” Your other boyfriend utters with a sweet and charming smile, but you quickly notice the aprons adorning their bodies and as far as you can tell, they’re both naked underneath.
“Good morning, what’s going on?” You rasp, as your eyes flint back and forth between them.
“We made something…um, something way better than breakfast in bed.” The long haired boy says, with a smile that tells you he’s up to no good.
You sit up quickly, curious about what they’re up to, by the look on both of their faces you knew you were gonna have fun, you always did with them.
“Better than breakfast in bed? Well whatever could that be?” The sarcasm in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by them, and they’ll definitely be adding it to the list of punishments they’re going to dish out later for your birthday spankings.
Both boys slowly untie their respective aprons, letting them pool at their feet. Your mouth instantly waters, holy fuck!
“Yeah I would say this is better than breakfast in bed, ya brat.” Steve retorts.
“Mhm, yeah I would agree.” You say absentmindedly as you take them in, they’re both stood there naked from head to toe, but their dicks…well their dicks are covered in frosting and multicolored sprinkles. It’s fucking hot, and your thighs clench together as your eyes stay laser focused. Did you mention their cocks are rock hard? You have no other choice but to slide out of bed and fall to your knees, ready to feast on the best birthday cake you’d ever received.
“Look at her, such a good girl. We don’t even have to give her directions.” Steve says proudly.
“She’s always so hungry for cock, that’s why.” Eddie’s smile ticks up on one side as he looks down at you, that devious glint back in his eyes before he starts moving his hips and shaking his butter cream frosting cock in your face. You take it as a demand and begin licking, from base to tip as the sweet pink frosting collects on your tongue, your taste buds going crazy from your first meal of the day.
“Mmm, that’s my good birthday slut. Clean daddy off.” He groans as he shakes his long hair out of his face, not wanting to miss the show.
You continue with your kitten licks, cleaning his entire rip off before taking him into your mouth.
“There ya go, baby.” Steve whispers into your ear making your eyes open, you realize he’s now kneeling beside you, eyes intent on your lips that are wrapped around your shared boyfriend’s cock.
He gathers your hair into a ponytail before he’s pushing your head further down, eddies tip hitting the back of your throat as you swallow around him. You’ve always found pleasure in giving oral sex but with the boys, it was so much more than that, there pleasure was your pleasure and you’d do anything to hear those gasps and groans fall from their lips.
The same ones that are falling from his pink plush lips right now, every time he hit the back of your throat and you swallowed. They got louder and louder until he was pulling you off with an animalistic snarl.
“Shit, you’re gonna make me fucking come, princess. Jesus. You trying to suck my soul from my body?” He playfully questions, as he looks down at you with complete admiration.
“Big boys turn.” He demands, before Steve stands up and steps right beside him.
You crawl an inch or two over, eyes never leaving Steve’s as you give him an innocent smile, before you move in. Tongue gliding along the underside of his cock, you swirl it around his tip and your head dizzies at the combination of the sweet frosting and his precum together, a delicious mixture.
You glide your tongue lower, lower before reaching his big saggy balls that are also covered in the frosting. You rub your face on them getting pink frosting around your mouth and nose but you don’t care, you’re way too horny to give a damn about anything right now. You suck and lick on his sack dipping each into your mouth until they’re fully cleaned of any remnants of the dessert.
“Fuck yes, love that slutty little mouth of yours. Need to fuck your throat baby, please?” He whines before you decide to give him mercy by wrapping your lips around his base, gliding up until you reach his tip and without warning you’re taking him into your mouth and down your throat, you bob your head as spit gathers and falls with every punch his throbbing tip gives to your uvula. You love having your mouth full like this, being used and filled is one of the best gifts you could ask for.
“That’s it!” Steve groans, as his cock throbs in your mouth.
“Damn, you coming already?” Eddie chuckles, making Steve grunt out a “fuck you.” to the long haired boy.
You look up at Steve with watery eyes, silently begging for his cum and you’re so elated when you see that moment of awareness cross his face, he lets out a gasping moan before he empties down your throat and its even tastier than the frosting. You moan and lick your lips savoring his flavor in your mouth.
“My turn.” Eddie grunts before fisting your hair and bringing you back to his weeping cock that still has traces of pink frosting and sprinkles. You lap at him until all that is left is his angry red tip and throbbing purple veins. “Open your mouth and take me down that throat like a good girl.”
With no warning he thrusts into your mouth, making your eyes water and your tongue tingle as saliva builds up. The noises are obscene and wet, making you clench your thighs in desperation.
“That’s our good little slut.” Steve murmurs from behind you.
Eddie has his hand in your hair, controlling the bobbing of your head as he fucks your throat with hard thrusts of his hips.
“Oh fuck, open your mouth birthday girl, swallow your present.” He groans as his thighs shake, his warm cum spilling on your tongue not long after. You swallow without hesitation, licking your lips as you look up at him.
You sit there for a bit, catching your breath after that brutal throat fuck, before looking at both boys and offering a sweet smile. “Thank you for my present.” You rasp softly, making both boys look at each other, a silent conversation passing between them.
warnings: all characters are 18+, some angst, no use of y/n, cheating, protective eddie, shitty boyfriend behavior, unwanted touches/advances, underage drinking/partying, grinding, fingering, light praise kink, biting, unprotected piv sex, cream pie
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based on scotty doesn’t know by lustra
a/n: god i feel like this took me forever, so apologies for that. but i just need to thank both @undead-supernova and @xxbimbobunnyxx for helping me so much with getting this fic put back together. i love you both so so much. 🥹💕
word count: 8.3k
Out of all the places you wanted to be on a Friday night, Jason Carver’s house wasn’t one of them.
The party was in full swing, music blasting from the speakers in the living room. Red solo cups and beer cans littered every available surface, as your classmates drank without a care in the world. Between the loud, synthy pop music and the constant chattering, you felt incredibly overwhelmed.
Parties were never really your scene.
You wanted nothing more than to go home and put on a film for the night. But dating a popular basketball player brought you out of your comfort zone more often than not. While that could be seen as a good thing, it was the opposite in this case. You never got to do things that you wanted, the plans always revolving around Scott.
However, there was one good thing about the party tonight. Or rather— someone.
Eddie Munson.
He’d kept his distance of course, so as not to raise any alarm bells with anyone. Most likely using the excuse of a good sale to be there in the first place. If anyone bothered to ask him. He rested his shoulder against the living room wall, a bag of freshly rolled joints clutched in his hand.
Eddie had surrounded himself with Robin and Steve the entire night, looking like he wanted to be there even less than you did. You can’t help but steal glances at each other from across the room.
Eddie looks good—he always does. His long curls are tied back in a low bun, sporting his signature ripped jeans and a Metallica shirt that hugs his broad shoulders nicely. You’ve wanted nothing more than to jump his bones the moment you got a chance to be alone.
The idea of sneaking off with him to one of the many guest rooms became more tempting as the party raged on.
You’ve secluded yourself on the sofa in the living room, adjacent to the makeshift dance floor. Thankful that most people are having too much fun to notice you there. You’ve been slowly sipping on a now watered down mixed drink, finding yourself feeling less and less in the party mood. However, your boyfriend seems to have other plans.
Scott is plastered. Irritatingly so.
You spent most of the night hiding from him, knowing how handsy he liked to get when he was drunk.
And as much as you’ve tried to pretend that everything was fine with Scott, your ability to fake it has become much harder. Especially knowing what you could be having instead.
So for the past week you’d avoided being alone with the basketball star. Ever since that fateful phone call the weekend prior. While you had still gone to the party that night, Scott eventually noticed something was up with you. Mostly due to the fact that you hadn’t let him touch you in over a week.
That was the driving force behind his drinking rampage tonight. The male had done 3 keg stands (that you’d witnessed) since he’d been here, on top however many beers he’d consumed. You’re exactly sure, but it’s the worst you’ve ever seen him.
Part of you does feel guilty, but a bigger part of you is starting to care less and less.
Ironically, Take Me Home Tonight by Eddie Money starts playing the moment he finds you again. But going anywhere with him is by far the last thing you wanted to do. The male slurs along to the track as he plops down next to you, nearly spilling his entire drink in your lap.
You can’t hide the grimace on your face as he leans into you, his breath reeking of stale beer. You grab the cup out of his hand before it spills everywhere. Huffing in annoyance as you set it down on the side table.
You really aren’t in the mood to play babysitter.
Scott’s hands, now empty, immediately grab at your hips to pull you in closer. His lips easily find your neck, the feeling of his hot breath making your skin crawl. You gently shove him off, but he leans back into your space immediately.
Normally you’d let him wear himself out, but you really don’t feel like it tonight.
“Scott, come on stop,” you sigh, no longer able to hide the irritation in your voice.
But your boyfriend is clearly not listening, continuing to press sloppy kisses along the exposed skin of your collarbone. A muffled moan leaves him as he guides your hand onto his lap.
You’re no longer able to conceal the alarmed expression that appears on your face as you tug your hand away. “I mean it, Scott.” He just groans in annoyance, feeling his fingers hook into the loop of your jeans.
“You’re too drunk, I said knock it off,” your voice drips with malice, despite how panicked you feel.
The male would always listen if you ever told him off, but his current state of intoxication clearly overtakes any rational thought.
“Oh come on, babe. We haven’t fucked in over a week, I have needs,” he slurs.
Before you have the chance to respond, the weight of his body disappears. You quickly glance up, your eyes widening in shock. Eddie has pulled your boyfriend up by the collar of his polo shirt, and suddenly it’s like the air is sucked out of the room.
Scott is fuming, a slew of curses leaves his mouth as he attempts to shove him off. Eddie is stone faced as he releases him abruptly, causing Scott to stumble backwards. He recovers quicker than you expected, raising his fist to aim a punch at the metalhead. But Eddie’s reflexes are much faster, catching the closed fist and knocking it away.
Scott was good in a fight, but he’s too inebriated to do much damage at this point.
“She said to knock it off, Scotty. I know you’re stupid but are you deaf too?”
You quickly get up and squeeze yourself between the two males, a clear pissing contest about to ensue if you don’t intervene. Your back is pressed against your boyfriend's chest, as your eyes plead with your lover to calm down.
“She’s my girlfriend Munson, fuck off,” he sneers.
The music has suddenly been turned down to a more tolerable volume, the focus of the party now shifting onto you— much to your dismay.
You can feel Scott’s hot breath against your neck, as his hands wrap around your middle to pull you further against his chest. Eddie is furious, his jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscles straining underneath his pale skin.
If you weren’t in this current predicament, you might have found it sexy. But you’re far too anxious to focus on anything else right now.
“Doesn’t matter, she doesn’t want you to fucking touch her,” Eddie’s voice continues to raise, until he’s almost yelling over your head. “No means no, dickhead!”
You can see Jason beginning to push through the crowd, Steve hot on his heels. The last thing you wanted was for this whole situation to escalate further. But judging by the look on Jason's face, you don’t know if you can stop it.
The crowd is clearly itching for a fight to break out, the whole atmosphere of the party shifting.
“Hey, freak! Who even invited you here?”
Eddie doesn’t even flinch at Jason’s insult.
“I did, Carver,” Steve answers, inserting himself in the already strained situation.
The tension between the four males is so thick, it makes you wish the ground would open and swallow you whole. Steve glances down at you for a moment before continuing, “But it seems to me like you need to get McGuire here in line. She’s clearly uncomfortable.”
You feel multiple pairs of eyes flick back to you, your shoulders slouching in an attempt to make yourself appear smaller. You catch Jason’s gaze, knowing he can clearly see the distress flitting over your features. The blonde sighs deeply, resting a hand on Scott’s shoulder.
“Scott, come on, just let it go,” he says, beginning to tug the male away from you. “You’ve had too much to drink.”
Before your boyfriend can even begin to protest, Jason and a newly joined Patrick lead him away. While you’re quite shocked that he was willing to break this up, part of you is thankful. Normally, the pair would egg each other on to keep a fight going. But as big of a prick Jason Carver is, he knew Steve was right.
You can feel the tears welling in the corners of your eyes, the party seeming to return to normal. While Steve has also disappeared into the crowd, Eddie hasn’t moved an inch. His eyes follow the group of jocks as they filed out of the room, casually flipping them the bird.
But his focus quickly returns to you. You can see in his eyes how he so desperately wants to envelop you in his arms and kiss your tears away.
But he knows he can’t. Not here.
Those protective urges are getting harder and harder for him to fight.
He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can say anything else you’re rushing past him. Pushing through the sea of drunken teens and to the front door. Your fight or flight instincts are finally kicking in, and you know you have to leave.
Anywhere is better than here.
You’d hitched a ride to the party with Chrissy, but you’re not about to try and find her now. You need to be alone.
You run for almost three blocks before you have to stop, resting your hands on your knees as you try to catch your breath. You take a minute to let your heart rate slow to a more steady rhythm before you start walking in the direction of your house.
While Hawkins is a relatively small town, your house is still a couple miles from the party. Walking the entire way isn’t the most ideal plan, but you didn’t give yourself much of a choice. And there’s no way you were going back there now.
You can only imagine the rumors that will be floating around the school come Monday. As much as you try to put on a brave face, you care too much about what your peers thought of you. You can already hear the kind of insults that would be thrown your way.
Skank, prude, lying whore.
The possibilities of cruel words were endless. You let out a small hiccup as you continue down the dimly lit street, finally allowing the tears to roll freely down your cheeks. You don’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing you cry too.
How did you even get to this point?
Two months ago you couldn’t have foreseen yourself in this position. Falling for another guy, whilst simultaneously falling out of love with another. If you ever loved Scott to begin with. You’re not entirely convinced of that fact.
It felt like the easiest option, being with someone like Scott McGuire. He’s well-liked, a person your parents approve of. But you weren’t really happy, just going through the motions instead of chasing what you really want.
Perhaps that was what Eddie had really witnessed that night he had stumbled across you and Scott. Someone who was desperately searching for a way out. And he’d given it to you in ways you never expected.
Eddie was kind, attentive— cared about your feelings and desires.
What started off as just sex quickly snowballed into something much deeper. You had never really given much thought to your own needs. Maybe that was why his offer was too good to pass up, it let you indulge in uncharted territory.
You’d been labeled as a good girl your entire life. You never rebelled and always do exactly as you’re told. To the extent that you never felt an ounce of control over the trajectory of your own relationship. Or many other facets within your life.
It was whatever Scott or your parents thought was best for you. They’ve never taken into consideration what you had actually wanted.
But being with Eddie was like a breath of fresh air. It filled your lungs, greedily inhaling everything he has to offer. After struggling beneath the current for so long, there was no way you would let it pull you back under.
A cool breeze suddenly whips across your face, stinging your wet cheeks. You wrap your arms tighter around yourself to stop a shiver. Thankfully, you had forgone the usual skirts or dresses you adored, in favor of a sweater and jeans. Grateful for the extra layers to combat against the sudden drop in temperature.
You keep your head down as you continue to walk further down the quiet street. Only the sounds of your sneakers padding against the concrete and your soft sniffles fill the night air. It’s almost peaceful.
You make it another block before that tranquility is interrupted. You hear the loud rumble of an engine as a vehicle approaches you from behind. While not many people would be out past midnight in this sleepy town, you don’t think anything of it. You figured they would continue driving down the empty street.
That is until that same vehicle begins to idle next to you.
You glance out of your peripheral and curse softly. You would recognize that van anywhere, having found yourself in the back of it more times than you could count.
The window is cranked down as you turn away, beginning to walk a little faster. But the van keeps pace with you regardless. Eddie calls your name, but you keep your eyes trained on the ground. Tears are steadily streaming down your cheeks now, smearing your mascara.
While the brunette has seen you cry before— it was under very different circumstances. This feels different, like he’s seeing you naked for the first time all over again. Only this time you don’t feel ready for it.
You feel vulnerable and exposed.
You hate it.
Eddie proceeds to plead your name, as you continue to ignore him. He let the upper half of his torso practically hang out of the driver’s side window. The theatrical nature of it is almost enough to make you crack a smile. But you know he wasn’t going to give up until you at least tried to talk to him. With how he had stood up for you, he at least deserves that.
Having made up your mind, you suddenly stop in your tracks. The van squeaks to a halt beside you, the male flinging the driver’s side door open. You see his scuffed Reebox’s first, letting your eyes linger there for a moment. But you immediately squeeze them shut as his fingers softly grasp your chin, tilting it up.
“Sweetheart, look at me, please.” His tone is gentle, but still laced with concern. “It’s just you and me, you’re safe.” The sincerity behind those words has your heart skipping a beat.
You let out a shaky breath as your eyes begin to flutter open. His face is blurred from the tears flooding your lash line. You slowly blink them away until he finally comes into focus.
“There she is…” he declares, the indent in his cheek deepening as he smiles.
The male cups your face between his palms, letting their warmth seep into your cheeks. His thumbs swipe away any lingering tears as he presses a kiss to your temple. Eddie envelops you in his arms, letting you bury your face into his chest. You breathe in the familiar scent of his cologne, letting him hold you like that for a while.
The glow of the street lights cascades down on both of you. The night air only seems to grow colder the longer you both stand there. A shiver runs through you despite the heat radiating from his chest, something he doesn’t miss.
“Alright, time to go, doll,” he mumbles softly, “Can I drive you home?”
You are silent for a moment, mulling over your options in your head. “No,” you finally say, untangling yourself from him.
He looks a little hurt as you turn to walk towards his van, that hurt morphing into confusion as you yank open the passenger door.
“I don’t want to go home,” you explain, seeming to snap him out of his frozen stature. Eddie quickly climbs back into the van, the door barely slamming shut behind him before he pulls back onto the road.
He keeps one hand on the steering wheel, the other tangled with yours on the seat. When you left the party, you had fully intended to go home alone.
But being tangled up with him sounds like a much better option.
You had never been to Eddie’s trailer.
Whether that was intentional or not, you’re not sure. But it’s the one place that he has never taken you to.
He seems nervous as he leads you through the living room. Your eyes wander curiously around the room, taking in the large collection of coffee mugs and hats that decorate the walls. Eddie sheepishly begins picking up some discarded food wrappers, junk mail— all in an effort to tidy up a little.
“Sorry about…” He pauses, hands full as he motions around the room. “All of this." You refrain from rolling your eyes. Tossing some items into the trash, he jokes, “Goddamn maid left us high and dry last week.”
“Let me guess…she ran off with some wannabe rockstar?” You smile, watching as he leans against the kitchen counter with a matching grin.
“Something like that.”
Despite what Eddie has implied about his humble abode, you liked it the moment you crossed the threshold. It has character, a clear representation of the two men who live there. But it also feels warm and incredibly inviting, something your own home hasn’t felt like in quite a long time.
His uncle already left for the night shift, which means the two of you have the place to yourselves. Eddie shows you to the bathroom, giving you a moment alone to collect yourself. But mostly to clean up the mess your mascara had made on your cheeks.
You emerge from the bathroom a few minutes later, Eddie nowhere in sight. He didn’t tell you which room was his, but it doesn’t take you long to figure it out. The door at the end of the hall was left slightly ajar, golden light spilling out onto the shag carpet. But it’s the strum of a guitar that ends up being your guide.
You push open the door to his bedroom, unable to help the small smile that graces your features as you take it all in. The room is a little messy and cluttered— something you expected.
You let your eyes roam over the many posters splayed across the walls, Metallica, Slayer… and one handmade one. Corroded Coffin. You knew Eddie was in a band—it was the one of the things apart from DnD that he seemed extremely passionate about.
Music.
Eddie’s quiet as he sits on the edge of his unmade bed, an acoustic guitar perched on his lap. This machine slays dragons, is painted in white on the side of the instrument. You find yourself suddenly mesmerized, watching as his fingers slowly brush over the strings.
He finally notices how you’ve planted yourself in the doorway, glancing up at you from underneath his lashes.
“Make yourself at home, sweetheart,” he smiles, gesturing around him. “What’s mine is yours.”
He focuses his attention back on the instrument in his lap, testing out a few chords as you shut the door behind you. You step further into the room, letting your fingers trail along the top of his desk.
Being alone with him like this suddenly feels more intimate than any other time before. It’s like he’s letting you peek inside his mind, showing pieces of himself that not many others get to see. Only those that he trusts. And you can’t deny how it warms your insides.
You’re a little too busy exploring the rest of his room that you don’t notice when his eyes have drifted back to you. The brunette gazes at you fondly when you spot a pair of handcuffs dangling next to his mirror. His soft chuckle fills the room as you reach out to run your fingers over the cool metal.
“We can definitely put those to use, doll.” Those words have you squirming, warmth spreading through your limbs. You shy away as you take a seat in the chair next to his desk. “If you want.”
Eddie grins at your flustered expression, glancing back down at his guitar. He’s playing freely now, the chords unfamiliar to you. But they’re beautiful nonetheless.
“You’re really good at… uh,” you trail off softly, gesturing to the instrument.
You notice how the tips of his ears flush pink from your admission, although he acts unfazed by your compliment.
“What, fingering?” he teases, purposefully pressing his fingers down onto the guitar strings in a dramatic manner which makes you giggle.
The song he was playing quickly morphs into something else, something quite familiar. But you can’t quite put your finger on it. You lean forward to rest your chin in your palm.
The moment he begins to hum the lyrics is the moment when the song becomes abundantly clear.
I, I will be king… and you, you will be queen.
“Heroes,” you murmur, the word almost becoming lodged in your throat.
You had mentioned to Eddie in passing a few weeks ago that it’s your favorite Bowie song.
You never expected him to do anything with that information, or even remember it. But he kept finding ways to surprise you. This small act alone proves that he truly cares about you, that he listens to you. It’s overwhelming in the best way possible.
Your body suddenly feels too warm under the thick layers of clothing. Rising to your feet, you grip the hem of your sweater and pull it over your head. You let the soft material fall to the floor, joining a heap of his own clothing. Standing before him in only your bra and jeans.
Eddie seems to fumble over the next few notes as he takes in your newly exposed skin, averting his gaze as he clears his throat. Now it’s your turn to make him flustered.
But he can’t help but glance at you out of the corner of his eye, as you begin unbuttoning your jeans. You shimmy the denim down your legs, kicking them off to the side. You felt emboldened as you strolled over to the brunette’s dresser. His eyes boring into your back as you rummage through his drawers.
You’re in search of a particular item, a smile stretching across your face once you locate it amongst the various band tees. Reaching behind your back you unclip your bra, you let the straps slide off of your shoulders. The item quickly joins the rest of your discarded clothes on his floor.
You don’t hear how his breath hitches in his throat over the strum of his guitar.
You pull Eddie’s faded hellfire shirt from the drawer and slip it over your head. The soft fabric glides over your skin, the hem falling just past the curve of your ass. It smells like an intoxicating mixture of his cologne and laundry detergent.
You hum softly as you breathe it in, turning to face him again. His dark eyes are blown wide, the guitar now almost forgotten in his hands. Just the sight of you in his clothes is making him feel things he’d be too afraid to admit out loud.
You saunter towards him, carefully grasping the neck of the guitar and leaning it against his dresser. He seems dumbfounded as you climb into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck. You tilt your head down towards his ear, lips grazing over it. Enjoying the way he almost shudders beneath you.
“I just want to thank you properly,” you whisper, nipping at his lobe.
Your lips continue to trail across his jaw until you reach his mouth, unable to hold back any longer as you press your lips to his. The feeling of your mouth molding against his own seems to snap Eddie out of whatever trance he was in. His large hands easily find the curve of your waist, gripping the fabric of the shirt in his fists.
Eddie kisses you slowly but deeply, trying to savor the taste of your mouth on his. Your fingers slip the elastic band out of his hair, letting his curls cascade wildly over his shoulders. But the longer he kisses you, the worse the ache between your thighs becomes.
In desperate need of some friction, you grind your hips down against his crotch. Whining as you feel his hardened cock through his jeans. He’d been struggling with it ever since you took that first piece of clothing off. Initially, he was going to ignore it, but then you climbed right into his lap and he lost all sense of logic.
But as much as he wants this to continue, he knows you’re not in the right kind of headspace for more. He groans into your mouth as you continue to rub yourself against him, but his firm grip on your hips stops any further movement. Your eyes flutter open, confusion filling them.
“Slow down, sweetheart,” he pants, one of his hands lifted to carefully cup your cheek. “We don’t have to do anything tonight.”
The look he’s giving you has your heart stuttering, but his words are throwing you for a loop. The whole basis of this… arrangement was sex. The fine line between a casual hookup and a relationship have been blurred for a while. But tonight has made it crystal clear that this has evolved into something much more than that.
Even if neither of you wanted to admit it.
“Do you not want…” you trail off, unable to hide the sliver of hurt in your tone.
He shakes his head, leaning his forehead against yours with a strained sigh.
“Trust me, doll. I definitely want to.” He chuckles, shifting his hips beneath you. “But tonight was… fuck, it was intense. And you can't expect me to believe you're okay after all that. I just want you to have a clear head, is all.”
You mull over his words for a moment as the weight of what happened earlier crashes back over you. And with it, squashing any urge to finish what you had just started.
"I'm not that asshole,” he continues, unable to make out your puzzled expression. “You don't have to fuck me just to make me happy. I'm happy just being with you, like this."
You’re willing yourself not to cry again as he gently presses a tender kiss to your forehead. Eddie basks in the scent of your strawberry shampoo, feeling you start to relax against his chest.
“Now, I don’t know about you.” He yawns, nuzzling your nose with his. “But I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.”
You laugh quietly, nodding as you climb off his lap. Draping your body over the bed, keeping your eyes focused on him. The male stands to strip down to his boxers, in such a hurry to get back to you that he almost trips over his jeans.
“Down, boy, I’m not going anywhere.” You giggle as he slips under the covers with you.
A sheepish grin tugs at his lips as he clicks off the bedside lamp, bathing the room in darkness. You reach for him just as he does for you, your hands bumping together clumsily.
“Scoot closer.” You can almost hear the pout in his voice, eagerly moving forward until his bare chest is pressed against your clothed one.
“Much better,” he hums.
Eddie slots one of his legs between yours, snaking his arms around your waist. There’s no part of you that isn’t completely entangled in him. You can feel his clothed erection pressing into your hip, and that sense of guilt washes over you again.
Knowing you’d left not one, but two guys pent up tonight.
“I’m really sorry for everything tonight,” you whisper into the darkness, feeling his arms tighten around you.
“Hey, don’t do that. You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for.”
You nod, but those feelings welling up inside you don’t dissipate. Not completely.
Eddie begins to rub soothing circles over your hip, continuing up your side. Your body tenses as you try to stifle a laugh. The male doesn’t realize that his touch isn’t exactly… soothing. But the further his hand creeps up your side the more you start to squirm and a small gasp leaves your lips.
That sound alone is enough to tip him off, now well aware of what he’s done. You can vaguely make out his mischievous grin in the dark, calculating his next move. Before you have time to react both of his hands are trailing up your sides, tickling you.
“Eddie!” You squeal as your body thrashes in his embrace, rolling you underneath him in the process.
The chain of his necklace dangles in your face, his fingers unrelenting as he pulls giggle after giggle out of you. This is a sound he’d vowed to hear as often as he could, his own laugh mingling with yours.
“S’not f-fair!” you squeak out between fits of laughter before he finally lets up so you can breathe. You’re panting a little, your noses brush against each other.
“I like making you laugh,” he admits, almost shyly. “It’s cute.”
You reach out for his face in the darkness, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his jaw. You can feel the warmth that’s radiating against your lips, allowing your lips to linger there for a moment.
Coming to the realization that you’d just made Eddie Munson blush brings a wide smile to your face.
“I just want to say thank you for earlier… and for letting me stay the night. I really appreciate it.”
Eddie settles back down next to you on the mattress, your palms resting against his chest. His lips search for yours in the darkness, leaving kisses all over your face in his fumbling attempt to find your lips. Another round of giggles escapes you from the tender gesture.
His ability to make you feel so safe and secure is still so new to you. You don’t want this feeling to end— you never want any of this to end. However, you know this isn’t fair. Eddie doesn’t deserve to be someone’s secret.
But as time passed and this relationship continued to progress, the more you began to realize that you didn’t want to keep him a secret anymore.
“Anytime, sweetheart,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.
You snuggle yourself further against him, limps tangling together. With your ear pressed to his chest, you can hear the steady beat of his heart. The way his breathing starts to slow and become more even.
“Goodnight, Eds,” you whisper, stifling another laugh as a soft snore answers you.
You allow your eyes to slip shut, exhaustion finally overtaking you as his heartbeat continues to lull you to sleep.
Sunlight streaming through the thin curtains is what awoke you that next morning.
A sigh falls from your lips as you attempt to stretch out your overly stiff limbs. Which is when you feel a stirring beneath you. Your eyes fly open as the events of last night trickle back in.
The party, Scott being a grade A asshole, Eddie taking care of you...
If your body wasn’t currently draped over him, you might have convinced yourself it was all a dream. That Eddie dropped you off at home, and you were snuggled beneath your floral bedspread. But to your relief, that clearly isn’t the case.
Your body stills in an attempt not to stir the sleeping metalhead beneath you. At some point during the night you must have gotten yourselves into this position. Laying on his chest, with his arms wrapped securely around your middle. But you don’t mind in the slightest.
In fact, you feel more rested than you have in quite some time. You just wish you could stay like this forever, wrapped up in him and only him. Lifting your head, you rest your chin on your hand and begin to study his sleeping features.
He looks completely at ease.
Faint freckles are scattered across his nose and cheeks, his long lashes fanning over them. His dark curls are wild from sleep, fanned out over his flannel pillowcase. Pouted lips slightly chapped, but kissable all the same. He really is beautiful.
You continue to watch him sleep for a while longer, the morning sun cascading over the tops of his cheekbones. But his breath remains even, small snores slipping out every so often. As you gaze at him, you can’t help but silently scold yourself.
You’re falling for Eddie Munson more and more each day, and you know you can’t keep this up.
You have to end things with Scott.
And as much as you want to stay snuggled up with Eddie, your body has other needs. You don’t exactly know how you’re going to get up without disturbing him, but your bladder is in desperate need of relief.
You sigh as you begin to shimmy further down his body, your legs falling on either side of his hips. A squeak of surprise leaves you as you feel his hard on pressing against your inner thigh through his boxer shorts. It shouldn’t have been that big of a shock to you—morning wood is normal, right?
But you didn’t have much experience with sleepovers of this nature. Despite dating Scott for well over a year, you’ve never spent the night with him like this. So it’s something quite new to you. While you silently ponder over this, Eddie begins to stir again.
A soft moan tumbles past his lips as you accidentally press yourself harder against his boner in an attempt to swing your leg back over the other side of his hip.
“Mm… where do you think you’re going, doll?” His voice is thick with sleep, an octave lower than normal. The gravelly nature of it makes heat shoot between your legs.
You curse softly as you glance up at him, those chocolate hues gazing back at you. Eddie’s fingers splayed across the tops of your thighs, sliding up to encircle your hips. You feel your body flush, his eyes darkening as he looks you over— straddling him, wearing nothing but his shirt.
When he lifts his hips to grind you against him, you can’t stop the whimper that escapes.
“Eds, hold on. I have to pee,” you mumble, feeling embarrassed as his hips still beneath you.
He just lets out a deep laugh as his hands release your hips. You climb over him, quick to scramble off the bed.
“Alright, I guess I’ll allow it,” he teases, the tips of fingers brushing against yours. “Just hurry back, sweetheart.”
Your heart warms at the sight of him, his brown eyes filling with adoration as they look up at you. Leaning over the bed, you press a small kiss to his mouth. A giggle leaves your own as he gives your ass a small pat before you book it to the bathroom.
You feel much better after finally relieving yourself, washing your hands as you glance into the mirror. Your eyes almost sparkle in the muted light, a dopey smile stretched across your face. Is this what it feels like to be in a healthy relationship?
You don’t dwell on it long, far too eager to return back to him. You slip out of the bathroom and tiptoe back to Eddie’s bedroom. Taking extra care to be quiet as you weren’t sure if Wayne has returned home from work yet. And frankly, you’d be mortified if you met him under these conditions—with you clad in only Eddie’s shirt and your panties.
What a great way to make a first impression.
You close his bedroom door behind you slowly, letting the lock click gently into place. You turn back around to face him and lean against the door. Eddie is in the same spot you had left him, only now he’s leaning halfway up on one elbow. That hunger hasn’t left his gaze as he beckons you over with his index finger.
Looking at his hands makes your thighs clench together, knowing all the wonderful things they were capable of. You take your bottom lip between your teeth as you approach him, stopping at the edge of the mattress. Eddie’s fingers ghost over the plush skin of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in his wake.
They continue up until they reach the elastic of your panties. He gives you a look, silently asking for permission. You guide his fingers beneath the fabric, aiding him in sliding them down your legs. As you step out of the material, your eyes glance back up to meet his.
“Come here.”
It’s spoken softly, but the command in his voice makes your breath hitch.
You move on instinct, your desire fueling your actions as you straddle his hips. There’s a fluidity in your movements as you rest your hands on his chest. Your manicured nails gently trail over his stomach, watching the lust continue to swirl behind his irises.
While this wasn’t a position you’d dabbled in up to this point, the way he’s regarding you has your confidence flourishing. He wants you, and he wants you badly.
At this point you’d give him the moon and the stars if he asked.
Once you’re settled on top of him, you can feel how his cock strains against the fabric of his boxers. Testing the waters, you glide yourself along his shaft, his hands reaching up to encircle your waist. He simply rests them there, allowing you to take the lead.
The worn cotton of his briefs provides some much needed friction against your clit. You bite down on your lip in an attempt to keep a moan from slipping out. But the male isn’t having any of that. He reaches his hand up to remove your lower lip from between your teeth.
His calloused thumb brushes over your mouth, slipping the digit past your lips.
“No need to be shy, sweetheart. I wanna hear you.”
You nod your head, humming as your tongue swirls around his thumb. You eagerly suck it deeper into your mouth, which pulls a low groan from him. But Eddie can only take so much of your teasing, removing his thumb to grip back onto your hips. Your lower lip juts out in a small pout, which causes him to chuckle.
“Now none of that, or I’ll give you something to pout about,” he quips, giving your ass a warning smack.
The hint of a threat in his tone has you whimpering, guiding your hips harder along his shaft.
You grip the hem of his shirt in between your fingers, beginning to lift it over your hips but he stops you. A brow raising as you look down at him.
“Fuck, keep it on,” he says with a groan. “Wanna see you riding me in it.”
His confession has you feeling timid, letting your hands settle back at your sides. Eddie’s fingers begin to trail over the top of your thigh, before dipping between them. His digits glide between your slick folds, brushing over your bundle of nerves. It causes your breath to hitch, eagerly grinding your hips back against his fingertips.
“Eddie, please,” you breathe.
“Use your words, pretty girl,” he hums. “Tell me what you want.”
Impatience gnawed at you as you lifted your hips, your fingers dipping past the waistband of his boxers. You tug them down to release his cock from their confines, your actions surprising you both. As much as you loved when he touched you, your body was already craving more.
Wrapping your palm around the base of his shaft, he groans. His jaw slackens as he watches you guide the tip through your drenched folds. Nudging it against your clit once…twice…a third time.
Before you finally line him up with your entrance, guiding your hips down.
“Shit, hold on doll, need a condom.”
Eddie holds you in place with one hand, as the other reaches over into his night side table. He’s blindly searching for one of the foil packets when you blurt out, “I don’t want it. Need you to fuck me raw, Ed.”
Your words stop him in his tracks, eyes widening in almost disbelief. You suddenly feel nervous, praying you didn’t just ruin everything with your admission.
“Are you sure? I-I wouldn’t want to risk…” he trails off, licking his lips as he regards you with a somewhat guarded expression.
You nod, leaning forward to whisper in his ear, “I’m on the pill. I just… I want you to be the first one to do it, Eddie.”
His groan rumbles through his chest, the implication behind your words only makes him want you more. Scott never got to do this.
This is something that would be his, and his alone.
His hand cradles the back of your neck, guiding your face towards his. Crashes his lips against yours, the desperation behind them telling you his resounding answer. But you want to hear him say it. Nipping at his lower lip, you pull away to sit back up and rest your palms on his chest.
The male is panting beneath you, his flustered expression only causes your confidence to grow. A smirk adorns your features as Eddie lifts his hips upward in an attempt to grind them into yours, but you push back against his hip to stop the movement.
“Nuh uh, handsome,” you purr, your fingertips gliding through the hair just below his navel. “Tell me what you want. Use your words.”
Eddie’s brain nearly short circuits as you use his former words against him. A slew of curses tumbles from his lips as you grasp his cock in your hand, rubbing it through your folds but not yet breaching the entrance. Awaiting his response as you continue to tease him, feeling his fingers grasping onto your ass.
“Fuck, I wanna come inside you so bad, sweetheart,” he whines.
You hum in approval, leaning back down to press a sloppy kiss to his mouth. Eddie instantly reciprocates, his tongue working its way past your lips. You teasingly suck the muscle into your mouth before pulling away. A string of saliva connects you as you sit up fully. Eddie curses again, his hands gripping onto your ass even harder.
“Fuck— come on, please.”
Hearing Eddie Munson beg is what finally breaks your resolve, slowly sinking down onto his cock.
It didn’t matter how many times you’ve had him, he always made you feel so full. This time feels…different, though. It’s as though you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock caressing your inner walls, the sensation has you gasping. Your body stills once he’s fully sheathed inside you, letting your palms splay across his chest.
“That’s it, takin’ me so good, doll,” he grunts as his head falls back against the pillow. His praise has you beaming.
You stay like that for a moment until you become familiar with the feeling of him inside you again. Beginning to lift your hips slowly, his cock nearly slipping out of you completely. As you begin to lower yourself onto him again, his face contorts in pleasure—now hiding those beautiful irises from you.
“Eddie… baby. Look at me,” you coo.
The pet name slips past your lips almost too easily, enjoying the way it sounds on your tongue. Eddie’s eyes snap back open to meet yours. His pupils are blown wide, the black nearly swallowing the brown of his irises whole. The male peers up at you in a mixture of lust and awe as you continue to take him deeper.
If he could watch you ride him all day, he would.
However, your leisurely pace is starting to drive him insane. The brunette begins to buck his hips up into yours, swift but deep thrusts that take you by surprise. A moan gets caught in your throat as he rams into your sweet spot, eyes rolling back into your head. Witnessing your visceral reaction, he continues to repeat the action as your chest starts to heave.
“Christ, you look so pretty with my cock inside you, baby,” he moans, his fingers digging harder into your hips.
Any thoughts of remaining quiet are thrown out the window the moment he speaks. A loud moan rips itself from your throat, filling the silence of his bedroom. His praise has your walls tightening around his shaft, your head falling forward as you open your eyes. A smug look adorns his features, eyes falling to where your bodies connect.
He looks so good like this— underneath you, eyes wide and his cheeks beautifully flushed.
“You like that don’t you? My pretty girl…”
The sound that leaves you is borderline pornographic, nails digging into his shoulders as you ride him faster. You can’t disguise the way your body reacts to being called his, your arousal making a slippery mess between your bodies.
You reach for him, coaxing him up until your chests are pressed together. Lips find each other instantly, tangling your fingers in his already wild locks. One of his hands travels between you, rubbing at your swollen bud.
“Fuck— Eddie,” you cry out as he massages your clit faster, simultaneously bucking his hips up into you.
You meet each of his thrusts by slamming your hips back down, thighs burning with the effort. One more brutal thrust into your cervix has you seeing stars, your head burying itself into the crook of his neck. You bite down onto the flesh of his shoulder to muffle a loud cry.
Your thighs tremble as your body slumps forward—unable to continue.
But Eddie keeps going, chasing his own end as he guides you further along his cock. He isn’t able to hold off much longer, as the constant fluttering of your walls becomes his undoing. He spills inside you with a deep grunt as you cling onto his biceps.
The male soon collapses into you, his chest heaving as he captures your lips together. You sigh into his mouth as he holds you tightly against him, breathing the air back into your lungs. You stay like that for a moment, locked together in the most intimate way possible.
Eddie carefully ushers your hips upward, coaxing you back onto the mattress. You whimper softly, already missing the feeling of him inside you. His cum has begun to drip onto the bed sheets as he kneels before you, spreading your legs so he can admire the mess he’s made.
Eddie’s eyes are still wide with lust as he takes in the sight of you, dipping his fingers between your thighs to gather some of his cum on the digits. He slowly eases them back inside your entrance in an attempt to keep anything else from spilling out. You whine his name, reaching out for him as he gently removes his fingers from your center.
The male presses multiple kisses to your shaky thighs before he crawls his way back up your body. Just as he goes to wipe his fingers on his sheets you grab onto his wrist, slipping the digits past your lips.
“Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” he mumbles, feigning hurt when you playfully nibble on his fingers. He starts to pull away, ignoring your pout as he gets off up off the bed. You’re about to protest but he hushes you with a kiss. “I’ll be right back.”
Eddie quickly fixes his boxers before he slips out of his bedroom, returning moments later with a damp washcloth. He’s back between your legs, gently cleaning up the dried arousal on your thighs. He takes his time, making sure every inch of your skin is clean before he tosses the dirty rag in his overflowing laundry basket.
Eddie helps you into a sitting position as he cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your lower lip. He smiles fondly at you, dimple indenting his cheek as a familiar look flashes through his eyes. The one you had noticed the week prior when you were draped across his chest in your bedroom. A look he seems to give you almost every time you’re together now.
You still aren’t sure what exactly it means. All you do know is that you want to see more of it.
Eddie tries to hide it as he presses a kiss to your nose, chuckling as you scrunch it beneath his lips. “You hungry? I’m not the best cook, but I can definitely whip you up a nice omelet?”
You beam at him, nodding your head as he gets up to rummage through his dresser drawers. He eventually finds a pair of shorts for you to wear, handing you the garment as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants. You glance down at the ground, attempting to look for your discarded panties, only to come up short.
“Eddie? Have you seen my panties?” You sigh, beginning to look through the clothes scattered across the floor. Hearing him chuckle you glance up, a small smirk stretching across his lips. It’s then that you notice the black lacy fabric clutched in his fist.
“These are mine now, sweetheart,” he winks, tucking them into his bedside table.
You feel a little flustered as you pull the shorts up over your legs, playfully swatting his chest as you stand. Eddie just laughs, pulling you into arms and kissing you again. He eagerly threads your fingers together, leading you out of the room.
However, once he begins to guide you through the trailer— there's only one thing on your mind.
Three's Company | Eddie Munson X F!Reader X Gareth
Summary: When Gareth accidentally interrupts your typical evening with Eddie, the night takes a turn that none of you were expecting.
Word Count: 5k
Warnings: 18+ mdni, alcohol consumption and heavy marijuana use so automatic dubcon, smut, mostly pwp, p in v (unprotected), voyeurism, fingering, masturbation (m), oral (f receiving), daddy kink, hair pulling, choking, little praise, little degradation, honestly just a touch ‘a everything yk how it goes
A/N: it’s not specifically stated but gareth is about 21-22 and eddie is 23, about to turn 24. this is honestly just one big filthy mess i can’t lie, so just brace yourself. and i did throw in a lil action with gareth right at the end for all my gareth girlies out there <3
started with this idea | part two
Smoke hung densely in the air, thick clouds drifting lazily through the small bedroom. The three of you were working your way through your third joint, the windows sealed and trapping the hot, heavy air inside. Empty beer bottles sat scattered on almost every surface, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s still two-thirds full on the nightstand beside three miscellaneous coffee mugs. Yours was white with a picture of a crab and said ‘Don’t bother me I’m crabby’.
You watched your boyfriend as he tapped the joint against the rim of the ashtray before leaning over you to pass it to his drummer. The openings of the cut-off sleeves of his Led Zepplin tee flashed you the dark ink crawling across his ribs. His rings clinked against Gareth’s in the handover, just loud enough to hear over the mixtape that you’d made for you and Eddie. It wasn’t exactly designed to suit the usual mood when the guys were over– Jeff would usually be there, too– but the two of you had started the evening alone together.
Eddie had been rolling up for the night at his desk when his friend called him. Apparently, Jeff had plans with a friend from work, leaving Gareth woefully bored and lonely; on a Saturday night, no less. It had you both feeling a little sorry for him, so you told Eddie to invite him over. After grumbling under his breath– something about ‘just wanting to fuck his girl in peace’– he begrudgingly did as you suggested and your party of two became three in less than thirty minutes.
You didn’t mind, though. Whoever said two’s company and three’s a crowd must have never spent two hours sitting, drinking, smoking, and talking with Gareth and Eddie.
“Sorry again for crashing your date,” Gareth apologized to you. “If Ed told me you were here, I wouldn’t’ve come.”
Eddie stood to pour a finger or two of whiskey into his Campbell’s Soup mug and you stretched your leg out, using your sock-covered foot to nudge your own mug closer to him. “Oh, so you don’t wanna hang out with me anymore?”
He scoffed, “C’mon, you know I think you’re cool as shit.” After topping off all three drinks, Eddie handed Gareth his. “I just don’t wanna third-wheel you guys too much. ‘S a little rude and pathetic, don’t’cha think?”
The boy took a swallow with a faint grimace, then rolled the desk chair he was sitting in about a foot closer to offer you the joint. “It’s not pathetic, Gare. You’re just hanging out with friends.” The music faded out and your head lolled towards your boyfriend with a lazy grin as “One of These Nights” by Eagles began. He just shook his head at you with a little smirk, biceps flexing as he raised his arms to tie his hair back in a low ponytail. Settling himself on the bed, he let his back rest against the wall as he sat between you and where Gareth sat in his desk chair.
You took a long drag, eyelids drooping as your head tilted against Eddie’s chest. His eyes roamed your body as it fitted to his. Your shorts were a little shorter than you’d normally wear in front of Gareth, but he couldn’t find it in himself to complain as he eyed your bare legs curling over his lap. Smoke billowed slowly from your mouth and the feel of his friend’s gaze on the two of you wasn’t enough to stop him from leaning down to breathe the rest of it in for himself, lips slotting familiarly between your parted ones. From your knee, his hand crawled slowly up the outside of your thigh to your hip. Your own fingers wandered to his exposed ribs, stroking lightly over the small date forever etched into his skin– the date you’d gotten together, almost three years ago now.
He didn’t tell you he was getting it; he knew you’d tell him not to, that it was a bad omen, but he didn’t believe that. Maybe you’d only been together for a year at the time, but you were a part of him. In fact, he’d wanted to have your name done, but after seeing your reaction to Rick getting his girlfriend’s name tattooed he’d worried you’d tear him a new one for it. Though you had to admit, it had grown on you. Maybe after ten years, you’ll let me add your name, huh babe, he’d said when he first showed you. Now the thought had your thighs squeezing together, the way you both knew you belonged to each other– the way everyone knew.
Gareth certainly knew, unable to tear his eyes from the scene before him though he knew he’d been staring for far too long. Watching Eddie’s teeth tug on your lower lip had him gnawing at the inside of his own. A glimpse of his tongue slipping into your mouth had the younger boy’s palms sweating. It wasn’t until his breath hitched at the sight of his friend’s hand sneaking between your thighs that you finally seemed to remember he was there.
Swatting Eddie’s hands away, you passed the dwindling joint to him and fixed an apologetic look in Gareth’s direction. “Sorry, I’ll make sure he behaves.”
“It’s okay, sorry I uh- interrupted–” He cleared his throat a little awkwardly and cracked his knuckles. “You want me to roll another one?”
“Go for it.”
While he turned around at the desk, Eddie’s mouth was meeting the sensitive flesh below your ear. His tongue grazed your skin and you let out a small gasp before pinching his thigh in warning. He hissed, but that smug little smirk of his remained.
Meanwhile, Gareth’s shaking hands were struggling not to rip the paper. He could hear all of it, even the occasional wet smack of his best friend’s mouth on your skin. Knocking back the rest of his drink, he shook his head a little and focused on finishing the task at hand. When he finally turned back around, his mouth went dry at the sight before him.
You sat comfortably between Eddie’s legs, back against his chest and head tilted to gaze up at him. He stared back at you with the same adoration, breathing in the last hit and ashing it in the tray on the nightstand. His free hand was halfway up your shirt and Gareth tried not to imagine the way his fingers must be teasing along your ribcage. He could see the blooming spot of red in the crook of your neck– which definitely wasn’t there before– slowly growing darker. So much for making sure he behaves.
He handed Eddie the joint and lighter which earned him a crooked grin and a “good man.” He watched him place it between your lips instead, lighting it for you as the shape of his other hand moved higher beneath your baggy t-shirt. Still, he could make out how the older boy kneaded at one of your breasts beneath the fabric until you swatted at him yet again. His throat grew tight and he could only hope and pray that neither of you noticed his pants doing the same.
The two of you had always been a little handsy, and he couldn’t deny that part of him always had some trouble keeping his eyes away, but something was different tonight. Maybe you were acting a little more intimate, maybe it was the heady music you’d been playing all night– hell, maybe he was just too fucking crossed– but it was different. He was one second away from having a nervous breakdown or busting in his jeans.
Suddenly, he was struck by the deep twang of “I Want You” by The Beatles beginning. Eddie’s head fell back against the wall with a thud, “Mmm, I fuckin’ love this song. Y’know that, Gareth? She loves this song too, don’t you, sweetheart? S’that why you put it on here?”
“Shut up.” You weakly elbowed him, but both boys still caught the way your thighs squeezed together.
He chuckled, his nose dragging along your cheek as he murmured, “Yeah. My sweet girl wanted me to fuck her to this song tonight, didn’t you, baby? This one always makes her shake.” Your stomach flipped nervously as your wide eyes were forced to meet Gareth’s, your bewildered expression mirrored on his face. He went on. “Maybe we should show him, hm? I mean, since he feels so guilty ‘interrupting’ us and all. What d’you think?”
Gareth was starting to think the dream-like quality of the night was because he actually was dreaming. This is Eddie Munson. The same Eddie Munson who almost knocked a middle-aged man’s teeth out for whistling at you three months into your relationship. And now, what? He wanted to–
“Y’gonna let me fuck you in front of ‘im, sweetheart?”
By your deer-in-the-headlights expression, Gareth would assume you were just as shocked by this turn of events as he was– which you partially were. You and Eddie had mentioned once or twice the idea of letting someone watch, Gareth’s name had even been thrown around when discussing the subject over a packed bowl, but you’d had no idea he had been considering it so seriously. Still, you couldn’t deny the way Eddie’s words made the heat between your legs throb. Glancing up to meet his eyes with uncertainty, you bashfully whispered, “I-I don’t know if Gareth wants that, Eds.”
Your boyfriend’s smirk only grew, fingers teasing at the waist of your shorts. “Don’t worry, babe, Gareth’s a dirty little pervert just like me. I mean, he’s been hard for twenty minutes.”
Finally, you glanced over at the boy in question whose face was now redder than you’d ever seen before, and his eyes immediately shot to the floor. He looked like a little boy who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Knock it off, you’re embarrassing him. S’okay, Gare. You’re allowed to look.”
Hesitantly, he lifted his head and his heart could’ve stopped. Eddie was tilting your chin towards him for a kiss with one hand as the other worked its way into your shorts. The glimmer of his rings in the low light caught the younger boy’s attention, eyes following them down your throat until they disappeared beneath your shirt once again. Lips leaving your boyfriend’s, you turned to him and held out the joint that had apparently stopped burning. “Wanna come get this?”
He hoped you didn’t hear the shaky breath he let out as he willed his knees not to give out and stood from his seat at the desk. “Y’sure you don’t just want me to l-light it for you?” The faint tremble in his voice matched the one in his hand as he took it from you, embarrassment warming his cheeks.
You must have noticed as you replied, “S’okay. You clearly need it more than I do, honey.” His face only grew hotter as he clocked your eyes lingering on the obvious tent in his jeans.
Finally speaking up again, Eddie chimed, “Seriously, man. Relax a little.”
In disbelief, Gareth faintly laughed out, “Right.” Dropping back down into the desk chair, he watched you and Eddie exchange a long look, almost like some form of confirmation. A check-in. He’d always admired how the two of you communicated so effortlessly. Frankly, he admired many facets of your relationship. He and Jeff had talked more than once about how they hoped they’d be lucky enough to find a connection like yours and Eddie’s. Still, he couldn’t believe you trusted each other enough for this– that you both trusted him enough for this.
Brain still cloudy with shock, he briefly glanced around his friend’s bedroom. Almost like he had to make sure he was really there. This was really happening. While Eddie was already attempting to peel your shorts off, you refused to assist him. Gareth’s fingers clutched at the arms of the chair as you graced him with your soft gaze instead. “You sure you’re not uncomfortable, Gare? You’re okay with this?”
Simply nodding dumbly in response, he was shocked when Eddie corrected him; “Use your words, Gareth.” He said it casually, but there was a subtle firmness behind it— one he wasn’t sure he had ever heard Eddie use before, especially toward him.
What shocked him more was the way he found his body tensing in response. Afraid the words wouldn’t come out, he sheepishly cleared his throat. “Y-Yeah, I’m good. Swear.” God, could his face flush any redder?
Your boyfriend finally forced you to lift your hips from the bed, allowing him to shove your shorts down your legs. His hands eased along your inner thighs, spreading your legs and hooking one of them over his to keep them open. Gareth was just barely able to make out the faint wet spot beginning to form on your underwear. He had to resist the urge to lean in for a closer look like some teenager watching his first porno. Eddie’s ever-wandering fingers eased over that wet spot, rubbing in soft circles around your clit.
Puffing out a soft breath from your nose, you sank further into his chest. “Feels good, huh, baby? All worked up already ‘n I’ve hardly even touched you. That excited to show off your pretty little pussy?”
“Eddieee,” You grumbled, trying again to hide your face in his chest.
“Don’t be so embarrassed, Gareth is even more excited than you are.” Hooking his thumbs into the sides of your underwear, he asked, “How ‘bout we give him some more to work with, hm?” Taking them off, he tossed them to his friend. Said friend was a goner. He blamed his crossfaded state of autopilot for the way he instantly lifted the material to his nose and took a deep breath. Eddie chuckled, “Told ya he was a perv.”
Gareth subtly palmed at his length, practically gnawing at his lower lip as he fought not to make a sound– God forbid he interrupt as Eddie spread your legs wide, giving him an unobstructed view of your dripping pussy. Fuck, he might as well have been drooling on the floor. He could hear your wetness as your boyfriend slipped his fingers between your slick-covered lips, easing around your clit a few times. Stuck in his glassy-eyed stare, he didn’t mean to let out a broken whimper as Eddie sank two fingers inside you.
Just as he was afraid of, the older boy instantly narrowed his gaze in his direction. “Oh, we’ve got our boy on the edge of his seat right now, baby. It’s okay, Gare. I know you’ve never seen anything like my girl before, you can take your cock out. Just keep your hands to yourself.”
The way Eddie spoke to him made his whole body blaze with shame, but he still found himself doing as he was told. When he looked at you again you were watching him fumble with his belt, button, and zipper. Finally freeing himself from the confines of his jeans, his cock twitched in his hand at the sight of the intrigue in your eyes, your tongue grazing across your lower lip. You clutched at Eddie’s bicep with a soft moan, walls clenching around his fingers.
“Oh, you like that, huh? Gettin’ all wet for my best friend’s dick?” His free hand grabbed your face, your cheeks squishing under his grip. “Didn’t know my sweet girl was that fuckin’ filthy.” You whined at the sudden emptiness as Eddie withdrew his hand from between your thighs, patting your leg with a soft murmur. “On your stomach, babe.” Obediently, you rolled over and he followed, kneeling behind you to grip your hips and lift them from the bed. “‘Atta girl.”
Your face warmed as you and Gareth looked at each other– you on your knees with your chest flush to the mattress and him with his pants just below his hips, his hand fisting his cock. Then Eddie’s fingers were knuckle-deep inside you again, curling into spots that only he had ever been able to find. Your hand shot back to grab at his thigh and you let out a surprised, gasping moan. “Daddy…”
While Gareth let out a quiet groan, Eddie just gave a low, condescending laugh. “Aw, sweetheart. I wasn’t even gonna tell ‘im. I didn’t wanna embarrass you too much, but you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Letting out little puffy breaths, your eyes welled with tears. Normally he would take this as an excuse to tease you further, but he didn’t want you getting too worked up with the added pressure of his friend’s presence. His hand rubbed soothingly over your back, “My little crybaby. It’s okay, Daddy’s here.” Your body relaxed, spine sinking deeper into its arch as his touch warmed your skin. “Would ya look at that?” Not that he had to ask; Gareth couldn’t stop looking. “She’s just such a sweet girl for me. Ain’t that right, baby? And so pretty. One of a kind, my girl.”
Taking in the scene before him, Gareth could only hope that wasn’t true. Because he wanted you– no, he wanted this. This thing, this passion and love that you two have for each other. Even as obscene a display as it was, he felt like he was witnessing something sacred, something holy. He was blessed further when Eddie brought you back to stand on your knees, your back to his chest as he lifted your shirt over your head.
Completely bare for both of them to gawk at, you were pointedly aware of your boyfriend’s fully clothed form behind you. He pinched teasingly at your nipple, making you arch further into him and grab at the hem of his shirt. Clawing for the skin just beneath it, you finally pleaded, “Take your clothes off.”
His eyes narrowed playfully; he just couldn’t help himself. “What do you say?”
“Please, Daddy,” You whined quietly with a pout.
With a quick wink and a crooked smirk, he crossed his arms to pull the ragged material over his head. You didn’t hesitate to seek out any inch of skin you could touch, a tremble licking down your spine as the soft warmth of his bare chest molded to it. Hands still pawing at your tits, his mouth worked its way down the length of your neck. “I love you,” He murmured against your shoulder, tone playful but still drenched in adoration.
“Love you more, Eddie.”
“Impossible,” He whispered in return before leaving one more kiss. “Now, back down.” Goosebumps erupted at the touch of his rings on your back, guiding you down until your chest met his bed once again. “Isn’t she such a good listener?”
Gareth was almost nervous to say anything– like any answer he gave could be the wrong one, and the wrong one might get the shit knocked out of him. So, why did his stomach tighten when Eddie looked at him expectantly for an answer? “So good.”
“Just wait til you hear how she sounds.” Eddie finally pushed his sweatpants down to his thighs, rubbing the head of his cock through your wetness and drawing a surprised gasp from you. “You ready for me, baby?”
“Yes,” You breathed out impatiently.
Finally sinking inside, he didn’t stop until his hips were flush with your ass. Gareth’s hand stilled, fingers tightened around the base of his length to keep from coming too soon. Each slow thrust pushed your hips forward, emphasizing the perfect arch of your back. Your eyebrows were furrowed slightly, but he could still hear your moans from behind the pillow you were clutching. That didn’t last long as your boyfriend laced a hand into your hair, pulling your head back just enough to uncover your mouth. “Don’t hide those pretty sounds, babe. We wanna hear ‘em.”
Eddie. His best friend, his brother, his mentor, his frontman, his dungeon master. He had never thought of Eddie like this. He had never seen Eddie like this. His frizzy curls falling out of the messy ponytail at the nape of his neck, tattoos on display, muscles in his arm flexing as he gripped your hair. Sure, he’d always thought he was a pretty good-looking guy, but now Gareth was beginning to wonder how he hadn’t thought about this before.
And the two of you together? Christ, you were a work of art. He wanted to frame this moment– capture it, bottle it, sear it into his brain so he’d remember every detail exactly as it was. The way the flesh of your thighs trembled with every movement, how Eddie’s sweat mixed with yours to make your skin glisten in the dim glow of the lamps, all of it made his body burn with need. Then Eddie was speaking again.
“God, you always feel so fucking good. My girl, made just f’me, huh?”
“Yes, Daddy,” You breathed out with a whimper. “Fuck, you’re s’deep.”
“I know, baby. I know,” He cooed sympathetically. “You c’n take it, though. Always do, don’t you?”
Gareth could see how your wetness further matted the dark hair around the base of Eddie’s length with every thrust, how the slick was just beginning to reach your thighs. Each moan you let out was more broken and drawn out than the last. That was until Eddie’s hand settled around your throat, urging you to lean back into him once more, and your moans turned to shaky, gasping whines. The ringed fingers of his other hand squeezed at your breast before mapping a path directly to your clit, circling it with practiced precision. With the way your stomach trembled in response, the boy didn’t think you’d last much longer.
He almost thought he’d spoken his thoughts aloud when Eddie asked, “Aw, you gettin’ close already? C’n feel it, baby. Having an audience really working you up that much?” He grasped your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Knew you were my little freak, sweetheart, but c’mon. You’re just as dirty as me and Gare.” Gareth himself felt guilty with how your face crumpled in shame, but Eddie only smirked as he kissed your temple and inched his hand lower to squeeze at the sides of your throat. “It’s okay, baby. You’re bein’ such a good girl for Daddy. So, so good f’me. Just need you to come for me now.”
Red lines and crescent-shaped indents littered his arms as you uselessly pleaded for exactly what he was already giving you. Your head fell to the side only for you to lock eyes with Gareth, though he didn’t seem to be in much better shape than you were. The pale sliver of his chest that was visible had turned the same vibrant red his cheeks had been all night. His hand, fisted tightly around his cock, was moving in time with Eddie’s thrusts as arousal all but dripped over his knuckles. The sight ripped another shuddering moan from you.
Darkness encroached on the edges of your vision as Eddie finally felt your walls spasm around him. Your nails bit into his skin so hard it nearly broke, but it only encouraged him to hold you tighter as you tensed in his arms. “Fuck yes, there it is. Feel so fuckin’ good when you’re comin’ around me, sweetheart.”
“Eddie,” You cried, “Please. Come inside me, I need it.”
Though he tried to hold it back, a ragged groan tore itself from Gareth’s throat. Spurts of come stained his shirt as he fought to keep his eyes on the scene before him, but he couldn’t help but let his head fall back against the seat. He’d never felt so good. His veins were thrumming with weed and whiskey, so much so that the room still spun when he closed his eyes. But the pleasure still throbbing dully through his body like an ache wasn’t from the booze or the joints.
The blurriness cleared from his vision just in time to watch Eddie pull you in for a messy, desperate kiss. One hand cradled your jaw while the other clutched at your hip, pressing himself as deep inside of you as possible as he came.
Quiet sighs and pants filled the room as the three of you collectively caught your breath. Gareth just watched as you both melted into one another. Eddie’s palms soothed over every inch of your skin he could reach, and he whispered one last crazy idea in your ear– one that was somehow even crazier than the idea that had brought you all to this moment. Though the suggestion made your eyes widen and your stomach tie itself in a knot, the way you clenched around him in response compelled you to agree.
Carefully pulling out he planted one last kiss on your shoulder, allowing you to lay back against the pillows as he fixed his sweats and turned to his friend who still seemed to be recovering. “How ‘bout you come ‘n help me clean her up, Gare?”
The boy froze in his seat, length twitching where he’d tucked himself back into his unzipped jeans. “W-What?”
“Before I change my mind,” Eddie singsonged simply in return.
Limbs weak, he quickly stood from the desk chair, sending it knocking back into the desk. Hesitantly, his knee met the edge of the mattress and he looked between the two of you for reassurance.
“It’s okay, Gareth,” You murmured softly. “As long as you’re okay.”
“Did so good for us,” Eddie cooed in agreement. He stared as his drummer slowly knelt between his girlfriend’s spread thighs, fingers winding into the boy’s hair encouragingly. “Thought you deserved a little treat.”
Gareth’s heavy eyes fell shut when he finally had the taste of you– of both of you– on his tongue, lapping up your shared mess before sinking inside. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips and thighs as he mouthed urgently at your wetness. “Tastes so good,” He panted into your skin.
“What does?” Your boyfriend asked, giving his unruly locks a little tug. “Her come, or mine?”
He only moaned in answer, tongue laving over your abused clit.
It felt wrong, looking down and seeing someone else’s head between your legs, but it only made that coil in your stomach grow even tighter. “Fuck, Eddie.”
“Ah, ah, don’t be rude, baby. It’s not me this time. Let ‘im hear you say his name.”
A humiliated whine escaped you, as though admitting it aloud was more shameful than inviting him to do it in the first place. “Gareth,” You finally moaned out pitifully, your hand winding into his hair alongside Eddie’s. “You’re gonna make me come again.”
“Oh, he’d be fucking honored, babe,” Eddie chuckled smugly. Leaning over you, he left a slow, deep kiss on your lips before dipping lower to your breasts. His tongue teased at your nipple before his lips wrapped around it completely, calloused fingers finding the other. He only pulled back briefly to murmur, “Go on, sweetheart. Come for us.”
The feeling of two mouths, two sets of wandering hands, was overwhelming. Your thighs closed around Gareth’s head as your hands wound into both his hair and Eddie’s. He could feel your walls clench and your clit throb against his tongue and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. He would’ve happily stayed there forever, drunkenly licking up every drop of tangy arousal that you released, but as your muscles began to twitch, Eddie gave one final pull to his hair that let him know his fun was over.
For a moment, it was quiet save for the low, bassy thrum of the music still playing. Then Eddie was up, grabbing a clean t-shirt and a pair of sweats and pressing them against Gareth’s chest for him to take. “You did good, Gare. Real good, alright?” He rubbed a hand over the boy’s shoulder comfortingly. “Go ahead to the bathroom ‘n get cleaned up, ‘kay? We’ll get you settled in for the night.” Cheeks warm from the praise, Gareth just nodded, heading for the hallway while you and Eddie finally got a second alone. Gazing down at you, he brushed your hair back from your face, trying to read every facet of your expression. “Are you okay? I didn’t push you too hard, did I? That wasn’t too much?”
“No, Eds, I’m okay. I liked it, it was good.” You nodded reassuringly. Still, he raised an eyebrow questioningly, holding out his pinkie which you locked yours with. “Promise,” You whispered. “Are you sure Gareth’s okay, though? Things won’t be weird with him from now on?”
“No, baby, I’ll talk to him. Don’t worry.” He pressed a long kiss to your forehead and grabbed you a bottle of water from the nightstand. “‘M gonna go make him a bed on the couch, alright? I’ll be right back.” You pouted out your lips for one last peck but let him go out to the living room while you gingerly got up to put clothes on.
Eddie was spreading a blanket over the couch when Gareth finally came out of the bathroom. On the table beside him sat a bag of chips, a bottle of water, and a couple of Tylenol. Sitting down, he patted the space to his left and asked, “You okay? I should’a talked to you both more before I dove into all that, I’m sorry.”
“No, please don’t apologize–” He took a much-needed drink of water and shook his head. “Trust me, I-I had…I had a great time. And I won’t make things weird, or like– tell anybody, I swear. I’m sure it’ll all be fuzzy in the morning anyway. Did you guys…?”
“We had fun, man, don’t sweat it.”
“Oh, we definitely had fun,” You agreed as you joined them. You settled on Gareth’s other side, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Thanks for being so cool about everything, I don’t think we could’ve trusted the other guys with something like this.”
“Well, thank you for trusting me,” He answered gratefully.
“My right-hand man,” Eddie reminded him as he stood, clapping a hand over his shoulder.
You playfully rolled your eyes at the sentiment, but kept a good-natured smile as you leaned over to peck the boy’s cheek. “Get some sleep, alright? Sweet dreams, Gare.”
As if anything could be sweeter than the taste of the two of you still lingering on his tongue when he closed his eyes and drifted off.
Description: After your encounter with Eddie, things are beginning to get a bit more complicated; especially when you ask him for another little favour. But, will Eddie go for it?
Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI this ain't for you, angst, tiny bit of fluff, smut, fem oral receiving, male masturbation.
A/N: OK when I said this will be in 3 parts I lied, it's totally going to be at least 4, maybe 5! Thank you for the love you've shown the first part, it's incredible! You're superstars.
❤️ If you like it please comment and reblog, it really makes my day!❤️
7k words
Masterlist Part 1
For some reason, the shop seems more welcoming today than ever. It might be the fact that the sun is shining, it might be the radio seemingly playing all your favourite songs, or it might be last night. Either way, you feel loose and free, laughing at jokes, smiling at everyone, and genuinely just happier.
Eddie saunters in thirty minutes late and you barely notice, apart from flashing him a bashful smile.
“Well hello there sweetheart, you seem chipper today.”
You roll your eyes at the obvious insinuation, but your smile is warm. “I had a good night's sleep, that's all.”
“Bet you did,” he grins, “you look real pretty.”
Looking down, you consider your outfit; you'd decided enough of the corporate clothes, this is a tattoo shop after all. So, you'd paired a roll neck sweater with a short jean skirt and sneakers. A more relaxed outfit to go with a more relaxed attitude. Before you can say anything in reply he strolls over to his station.
Right, so a few jabs, but he's being nonchalant. So put it out of your mind.
The morning moves quickly, a messy blur of clients and phone calls. After a fast lunch, the shop finally calms down a little. When you're focusing on sorting the mess of the heavy bookings tome in front of you, Eddie approaches, mischief glinting in his eyes.
“I see London, I see France…”
You follow his bowed head and cross your legs in sheer embarrassment, realising a sliver of your panties must be on display.
“Eddie!”
He simply laughs, throwing his head back far enough that your gaze drifts to his Adam's apple.
“Sorry, I couldn't resist, I'm a big fan of this skirt,” he says, drinking you in with his eyes, “anyway I wanted to ask-”
His sentence is stopped however by the loud ringing of the old corded phone. You and Eddie share a look, yours begging and his smug. Before you can grab it, he picks up the phone, putting on a ridiculous British accent.
“Good Afternoon, London Underground Airways, this is your captain speaking- Oh shit Mac- Yeah she's- I know I'm not supposed to answer- Sorry I- Fine, here.” He brandishes the phone at you.
“Hello? Oh, of course I'll let them know- I understand- It'd be my pleasure- see you soon.” replacing the receiver, you make a note on the pad at your side.
“What'd he say?” Eddie asks, hovering over you.
Not giving him the satisfaction of a look, you continue to make your note, however perfunctory it may be. “Mac's going to be a little late, he told me to tell his next client.”
“He said my name, I heard it. What'd he say?”
Placing your pen down with a loud click, you turn to him.
You tell him as you smile smugly. “He told me to hit you for answering the phone.”
If anything, his grin grows broader. “Oh? Go on then princess, I'd hate for you to break the rules.” He turns his face, no doubt expecting a cuff to the back of the head.
Spinning on your stool, you slap him right across the cheek; not with all your strength, but certainly hard enough to remember. Eddie's face is a picture of shock, pink handprint already flushing his cheek.
But that just makes his smile wider.
“Harder.” He asks, eyes flashing arousal at you.
“Eddie!” you shout, pushing him away, but his laugh echoes through the shop. Before he has a chance to continue, a burly biker type walks right in the door.
“Good afternoon, can I help you?”
“Yeah, It's Jimmy, I'm here for Mac?”
“He's running a little late, but he'll be with you as soon as possible. Can I get you a coffee or something while you wait?”
You can't help but hear a huff from Eddie, but before you can question it he's drawing in his book, entirely oblivious to the outside world.
At the end of the day, you're tired, but still in fairly high spirits. It's the first time you've seen everyone in the shop at once. There's an edge to the air though, as if an expectation hangs over everyone.
So… bar?” Mac asks in a defeated tone, although he's smiling. Everyone reacts; Eddie woops, pumping his fist, even the usually reserved Miranda is clapping quietly. You smile and nod, finally understanding what the atmosphere was about.
As you all enter the dimly lit bar, chatting and laughing, you hear a low huff.
“What did I do to deserve this?” John is standing behind the bar. An imposing figure, his arms crossed and face surly, but there's a kindness in his eyes. Mac leans straight over and hands him a card.
“Easy John, I got this,” he chuckles. The card is accepted gratefully, the gruff demeanour lessening with the promise of payment.
You accept a bottle of beer and slide into a nearby booth, the rest of the group filtering in. Mac walks over, eyes the space next to you, then grabs a stool to sit at the head of the table. It throws you for a minute; surely he knows he can sit there? Before you can tell him so, Eddie waltzes across the room with a tray of tequila shots and all the fixings with a cheeky look in his eyes. He slides right in next to you, tray and all, and places it on the table with exaggerated care.
“Ladies, gentlemen.” He says, gesturing to the tiny glasses like an old timey butler. There's a succession of groans from the party, but despite this they all grab a shot. All except you.
“I don't think I-” you begin, but he's waving a hand in the air.
“Come on, you drink. It's a shot. Never had tequila before?”
Fixing him with a sharp look, your cheeks begin to redden of their own accord. Eddie smirks and tosses his head back, hiding his eyes with one hand.
“Shit princess, what did you do at college?”
“Study.” You say primly, but take a glass tentatively and place it in front of you.
“Right, so for the new guys…“ Eddie smiles right at you and licks his hand between his thumb and pointer finger. That hint of silver mesmerises you, the ball of his tongue piercing catching the light. It's almost sensual the way he does it, your eyes automatically following the movement of his tongue. “salt right here…” he sprinkles some on the spot he moistened, “then, lick, shoot, suck.”
In a few fluid movements he licks the salt from his hand, downs the shot, and sticks a wedge of lime in his mouth. As your brain finally engages after that display, the little show that shouldn't have heated your insides up, you follow along, and take your shot with everyone else. It's easier than you would have thought, the lime easing the burn somewhat.
Eddie squeezes your thigh under the table and whispers low enough for you to hear.
“Good girl.”
Shooting daggers with a simple look, he just smirks, leaving his hand on your bare leg as if challenging you. Dimly, you hear the echoes of a conversation in front of you; it's Julio, arguing about good tequila not needing salt and lime, but you're lost in the deep pools of Eddie's chocolate eyes.
For a moment, your body flashes red hot and you regret your choice of the high necked sweater. Tearing your eyes away you look at something, anything, but Eddie.
The conversation drifts between all manner of subjects and you start to relax, the beer and tequila swimming in your belly loosening your tongue. It's nice, having a chance to chat and giggle with your coworkers in a setting not interrupted by the constant buzzing of tattoo machines.
Julio and Chloe end up in a full scale argument about the karaoke machine in the corner. Before you're subjected to the horror of having to sing in public, you get up to grab another beer. Perching on a stool by the bar with your purse in hand, you're waiting patiently to be served.
Eddie strolls over. You see him in your periphery; that confident walk as if he owns the very ground he walks on. Casually he hops up on the stool next to you, making no effort to hide the way he undresses you with his eyes.
“Quit staring Eddie,” you say testily as you knock the bar with your bank card.
“Now I can't look at you?” He asks with an amused grin.
“I said quit staring, not quit looking,” you huff out.
“What's the difference?” He asks, shrugging his shoulders and scrunching his nose at you.
You groan, turning on your stool to face him. “You are impossible,”
He sticks his long tongue out childishly, flashing his piercing at you.
Thankfully, John's voice cuts through the squabble. “What can I get you?”
“May I have a beer, please?”
“You certainly may.” John cocks his thumb in your direction, addressing Eddie, “I like this one, she's polite. Don't scare her off.”
Eddie dramatically holds his chest. “You wound me, sir!”
Two beers are placed on the bar and John waves your card away. “Don't worry about it, Mac's treating you guys tonight.”
As you swig your beer, you contemplate for a moment, trying to work out something.
“You're staring, sweetheart.” Eddie grins, as he gulps his drink.
“I wasn't staring, I was thinking! I know that's a foreign concept to you.” It's catty, you know that, but he just seems to bring it out in you. No one else has annoyed you so much in your life just by… being.
“That was rude. I thought we were playing nice?” he pouts playfully.
“Sorry. I- Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, shoot.”
Turning to him, you speak what's on your mind. “Why do people get their tongues pierced? No one really sees it. I get like, nose and eyebrow piercings and stuff, but the tongue one I don't understand.”
Eddie's grin is wide as he bites his bottom lip and stares at you. Well, you couldn't call it a grin. It's a flash of teeth, almost wolfish in its delivery.
“Oh princess, you are too cute.”
Staring at him with your brow furrowed, you try to work out what he means, but the longer you take, the more amused he looks.
“What? What is it?”
Sighing, he leans closer, the scent of aftershave, cigarettes and man clouding around you. “It's got a purpose, sweetheart.”
“What, like, kissing?”
Shaking his head, he looks you up and down. “Kinda. Kissing somewhere… specific.”
Realisation breaks across your face, followed by a fierce blush that you can feel to the roots of your hair. Laughing, Eddie pulls away a little and takes a mouthful of beer.
Voice an airy whisper, you lean over to him as you speak. “And girls like that?”
His laugh is so loud it reverberates around the bar.
“Yeah, a lot, in my experience.”
“Oh.”
Well, the thought is there now, and you're pretty sure it won't ever go away, not without some sort of mind bleach. Eddie's head between your legs, his long tongue exploring your sex. The image is burned into the back of your brain, playing on a loop.
“You're looking a little hot there,” he says, as if he can read your thoughts. It's fair to say it wouldn't take a psychic to know what's rattling around your head right now.
“I'm fine, this sweater is too warm,” you shake out, pressing your thighs together.
“Liar.”
Mouth opening and closing like a fish, you finally snap it shut with a crunch. Curiosity is eating away at you, and it's too easy to say what's on your mind after a couple of drinks.
“Eddie, could you… tell me, what- what it's like?”
He chuckles lightly and scoots closer to you. “you know I can't, I've not exactly had the pleasure.”
“I know that, I mean…”
For a second he just gapes at you.
“Wait, princess, are you asking me to tell you or… show you?”
Flustered, you turn away a little. “Sorry that's- that's too much isn't it. It's just you… did such a good job with the, you know, the other thing, I was just curious.”
Eddie bites his lip, puffing out a little breath. “You know, flattery works with me. I did a good job, huh?”
“Well, yeah. I can imagine you'd be really good at… that too. I could, owe you a favour?” It's bold, especially from you, but the way he's looking at you, the slight flush to his cheeks, you'd put money on him agreeing.
Eddie stares at you incredulously. “Wait, you're saying you want me to stick my tongue in the holiest of holes and then you owe me a favour?”
“Yeah? Like a little… arrangement.”
He rubs his face with his hand, his voice muffled as he speaks. “I'd feel like I was taking advantage of you.”
That confuses you for a moment. Surely you were the one who asked him? Hesitantly you reach out and touch soft fingertips to the back of his hand.
“Please?”
“Fuck.” He looks around, and turns to you, gazing into your eyes for a moment.
“Fine. Right now.”
“Oh I didn't-”
“Listen, before I change my mind. Meet me out back. I'll tell the guys you're not feeling well and I'm taking you home.”
Wordlessly, you grab your purse and head to the back door, heart hammering in your ears. It's a little dank out here, with the sound of a dripping pipe and moss covering the cement. Eddie comes out a moment later looking more serious than you've ever seen him.
“You sure about this?” He asks, searching your eyes.
‘Yeah, but…” you look around the small yard, gesturing vaguely.
“Oh. Oh! You thought- oh Christ no, not here. I'm not a complete asshole. Come with me.”
Letting out a relieved breath, you follow him. He walks over to a gate in the fence and opens it, which leads down a narrow alleyway, a little shortcut between yards. That eventually opens up to another road with a couple of apartment blocks. The one he moves towards looks mostly clean, if a bit lifeless, with a creepy looking van parked out the front.
“This way sweetheart,” he says, leading you through the courtyard and to the stairs.
For a second you stop in sheer surprise.
“Wait, you live this close and you still manage to be late for work?”
He chuckles, looking at you over his shoulder. “I have a condition, you know. Chronic tardiness; I'm afraid there's no cure.”
You bat him on the arm playfully and he grasps your wrist, stopping on the stairs briefly, giving you a look that is wickedness personified.
“If you're gonna hit me, do it properly.”
“Eddie!”
He laughs loud and grabs your hand, holding it in his until he reaches his door. That alone is enough to shut you up. It's warm and rough, and the feeling of his skin on yours, no matter how tiny, sends bolts of sensation through you.
“Right, here is my castle,” he says as he opens the door and lets you inside.
Chaos. That's the first word that crosses your mind. It doesn't look dirty, there's just things everywhere. A bookshelf stuffed with books and weird little trinkets placed any which way dominates one wall, and another on the other side with a huge music collection. There's a poky little kitchen with a couple of pots still in the sink, and a big couch with mismatched cushions takes up the remaining space. A tower of board games is precariously leaning next to it, and on the wall over the TV is an honest to goodness sword.
“It's nice,” you say as you walk in, as if you're not mentally organising it in your head.
“You hate it.” He scoffs, pulling his boots off and dumping them by the door.
“No, no, it's very… you.”
“I stand by my previous statement.” He grins at you, clearly indicating he wasn't being entirely serious.
“This is the bedroom.” He walks over and nudges the door open with his foot. Surprisingly, apart from an open clothes rail, an overflowing laundry hamper, and an enormous bed, there's not much in it. The wallpaper is a pretty purple colour, and looks oddly familiar.
“Eddie isn't that the same wallpaper-”
“-As the shop? Yeah. Mac let me have the leftovers. I was broke and this room was fucking pink.”
You snort out a laugh; the thought of Eddie with a pretty pink bedroom was rather unbelievable.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I can live with purple.” He roots around and grabs a pair of sweats. “Make yourself comfortable, I'm gonna change real quick.”
Then he walks out into another doorway, you assume the bathroom. The urge to snoop is real, but you resist. It looks like he spends less time here anyway.
The question is, how comfortable are you supposed to make yourself? Nerves start settling in, the thought of what you've asked him to do is finally sinking its way into your mind and down your jangling spine. What if he doesn't like the underwear you're wearing? God, you've been at work all day, what if you smell bad? Or taste bad? What if-
“You can sit down, princess.”
Eddie saunters back in, shirtless, a pair of grey sweatpants hanging so low on his hips you see his cut groin. A little squeak hiccups out of your throat at the sight. You stay standing, ready to make your excuses and leave, but the signal hasn't reached your legs just yet.
“What's wrong?” his eyes are brimming with concern as he steps toward you.
“No I- I was- maybe this-”
“Hey, look at me,” he says, grabbing both of your hands. You stare up at him, his face gentle.
He backs you up onto the bed, your knees folding as you flop down. The air around you feels full, humid with anticipation. He's so close, your bodies almost pressed together.
“I wanna kiss you.” He says softly, stroking a lock of your hair out of your face. Heart leaping into your throat, you try to suppress the urge to lean forward. The last thing you need is to fall for this man. Chloe's words echo in your head; he's not boyfriend material.
He'll break your heart.
“That's not part of our deal, Eddie.”
A frown flickers across his face. It's just for a second, a flash of vulnerability, before his usual cocky smile returns.
“That's not where I wanna kiss you.” He winks and tugs at your top, “can I take this off?”
Nodding wordlessly, you help him and wriggle it up and over your head.
“God damn.” Eddie props up on an elbow, running a finger between your breasts, before following the edge of your black cotton bra.
He looks up at your face, grinning wide, and points at your neck; little purple marks adorn it. “That why you wore that sweater today?”
Flushing crimson, you run fingers across your neck.
“Yeah, you marked me Eddie. Not exactly discreet.”
He chuckles, stroking the side of your neck. “Sorry sweetheart, I won't do it again. Well, not anywhere that anyone can see.”
Heat floods your stomach, the stark realisation that you want him to mark you clings to your insides. If he notices your reaction he doesn't say, instead he leans toward you pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek.
“You're really pretty. I don't know if I said that before.”
Awash with a new heat in your cheeks, you smile bashfully. “Thanks, I don't get told that very much.”
Staring at you, he shakes his head.
“You should. You should be told every fucking day.”
You open your mouth, but before you can reply he kisses your jaw, running his tongue down your neck, before he presses his mouth to the top of your breast, sucking roughly. A gasp flies out, and your hand makes a decision entirely on its own to grab his hair.
It seems it was the right thing to do, judging by the deep groan that comes from him. It seems to spur him on, and he yanks the cup of your bra down, taking your nipple into his mouth. His tongue teases it, rubbing his piercing over the pebbled nub.
“Oh Holy fuck!” Back arching with the foreign sensation, you revel in it, wriggling underneath him. He smirks against your skin, and takes your nipple between his teeth. Moaning loudly, you pull his hair.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” He looks up at you, pupils blown to black, “can’t hold back if you do that.”
It's not a dare, but it tastes like one, and before you can think you're tugging at it again. Eddie's eyes roll back, and a hard look crosses underneath his eyes.
His actions turn a little feral, pulling you up so he can unhook your bra, practically ripping it off you before his mouth is all over your chest, firm fingers digging into the flesh of your hip.
“Fuck, Eddie” you stutter it out, voice laced with need.
“Yeah?” He whispers out breathlessly between urgent kisses, making his way down your stomach. Suddenly he takes the flesh of your hip in his mouth and bites down little before sucking a bruise as you writhe under him.
He reaches your skirt, hooking fingers into the waistband as he looks up at you, his tone urgent. “Can I?”
As you nod frantically, he reacts immediately, yanking it down along with your underwear.
“Fuck, look at you.”
The urge to close your legs is real, embarrassed at the way he's ogling you right between your thighs. They quiver with tension, but Eddie forces them open with his large palms.
“Don't hide from me. You still want this?”
You nod, and his head snaps up to look at you. His voice is hard, swirling around your insides with an intensity you're not used to from him.
“Say it. You need to say it.”
‘Yes, please Eddie.”
That satisfies him. He leans forward, breath ghosting over your clit. You're waiting for his mouth, his tongue, but that's not what happens. He inhales you, nose so close it's almost touching your sex.
“Jesus Christ, you smell so fucking good.”
“Eddie!” you cry it out, cringing at his words as you bury your face in your hands.
“Relax princess, it's a compliment.”
Before you can retort that it's not a compliment, it's weird, and he's a freak for saying it, it no longer matters. He's licking a fat stripe up the length of your pussy, long tongue pushing against you hard in an animal-like gesture.
The noise that expels from your chest is inhuman, a choked, guttural breath that belongs in a cave somewhere, not a bedroom.
He doesn't relent, his mouth exploring every inch of you with a ferality that has you tingling all the way to your toes. His fierce movements, accentuated by the bump of his piercing, have you nearly leaving the mattress. You're not sure if you're trying to get more, or move away. Not that it matters. His hands are holding you so firmly that all you can do is wriggle helplessly like a fish on a line.
Fingers trace the outside of your entrance before they slide in, beckoning your release. Whimpering, you grasp the bedsheets in a need to keep contact with something real.
“Talk to me,” he says between mind numbing messy kisses to your clit, “good, yeah?”
“Eddie, f-fuck, its incredible, please, oh God, k-keep going!”
You can practically feel the smirk on his face as he dives back in, suckling at your clit with an unmatched fervour, his tongue piercing flicking expertly as he does so. Suddenly, you're not creeping toward your release, you're being hurtled toward it, thrown into the depths of absolute pleasure.
Hands finding their way into Eddie's hair again, you hold on tight, buckling up for the ride. It's almost violent the way he pulls your climax from you, and you scream loudly, almost folding in half before you fall back onto the bed.
Eddie sits up, hands placed on your thighs, as he grins proudly, face shining with your slick.
“You OK princess?”
OK doesn't seem to cover it. You're panting wildly, each breath shallow and ragged, brain melted into soup.
“Think you can go again?”
That gets your attention. You sit up, gaping at him. “Again?”
Chuckling, he runs a finger up your slit and circles your clit in a teasing manner. The slight touch has your thighs trembling.
“I think you've got at least one more in you.”
Without a further word he presses his tongue against you. On instinct you grip his hair once more, bucking your hips up.
“Fuck, that's it sweetheart, ride my face.”
This time he slips his tongue inside as his nose nudges at your clit, the thick muscle curling and writhing. Holding on tight, your hips know what to do, your body reacting and rolling to meet him.
You're yanking his hair hard as you grind against his face, pulling deep grunts and moans from him which vibrate inside of you. It feels primal, sheer need clouding your mind, a fog that rolls into every limb and leaves no part untouched.
“Eddie, fuck!” You moan loudly as your walls clench around his tongue, another climax bubbling its way to the surface. He doubles down with his efforts almost as if he needs this as much as you do.
With one final thrust of his tongue you whine out your orgasm, back finally touching the bed once more. There are no thoughts, only your heavy breath and beating heart keeping you in the moment.
After a few seconds that seem to stretch on for a year, he hovers over your face. He's wiped off your release, but nothing could wipe that smug grin.
“So? Good?”
It's not like he doesn't know. You pat blindly at his arm, words stuck in a puddle on your tongue. In an unexpected tender gesture, he swipes his thumb over your chin, his gaze pensive. You stare back, fingers reaching out to gently touch his cheek.
“Are you going to kiss me?” You whisper, the words pooling from you unbidden.
For a split second you think he's going to lean in and close the gap, but he flashes his teeth at you and flicks the tip of your nose.
“That's not part of the deal.”
Disappointment leaks into your stomach. Which is entirely unfair. He's using your words after all. Fighting the feeling, you force a smile.
“I think I'll need a wheelchair to get home.” You chuckle, indicating to your still twitching legs.
“Stay here. I'll take the couch.”
“Oh, no, Eddie, I couldn't kick you out of your own bed thats-”
“Hey, it's fine, honestly. I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it.” He shrugs and rolls off the bed and onto his feet in one quick movement like a cat. “Here. If you want something to sleep in.” He hands you a faded t-shirt. Hesitating for a moment, your hand hovers over it, but he stuffs it into your grip.
“Honestly, it's fine. I can drop you home before work so you can get changed and stuff. No big deal.”
“What about your chronic tardiness?” You joke, smiling softly at him.
“You're here, I'm sure you'll whip me into shape.”
“You'd probably like that,” you tease.
“More than you know.” He winks again, and walks to the doorway. “Night, princess.”
“Night Eddie.”
When he's gone you shrug the shirt on. It's clean, but there's an undercurrent of pure Eddie still there that's more comforting than you'll care to admit. Then, you lay there, staring at the ceiling.
Well. You certainly weren't expecting to end up in Eddie's room, in his bed, but here you are. You're not sure what this all means just yet and processing it is just hurting your brain. A part of you is saying that you should get out now whilst you can. Another, louder part is telling you this is where you should be. The only problem: is this message coming from your heart, or much lower down?
Chloe drifts into your mind whilst you lay there. Did they hook up in this bed? Are you in the same place she was? And how did that end? Clearly it was on good terms, considering how friendly they are, but how many girls have been where you are right now? A few? A dozen? A hundred?
After a while your thoughts just start to ache, leaving a migraine behind your eyes. Shifting on the bed, you try to get comfortable, but it's no use. You wonder if Eddie is still awake. After all, he's the only one that can answer your questions.
Sitting up a little, you listen intently for any signs of life from the next room, but no matter how hard you strain your ears, you can't hear anything.
As you quietly get up and creep to the door, you press your ear to it. Maybe that was a word you heard, a loud breath, or the signs of an overactive imagination. Turning the doorknob like a safecracker, you inch the door open ever so slightly to peek beyond.
There he is, laying on the couch, eyes tight shut and face contorted in concentration. Odd. You slowly guide the door open a little more and your eyes nearly bug out of your head.
Eddie's laying there, hand down his sweats, tugging at himself like there's no tomorrow.
You almost cry out in shock but manage to swallow the noise just in time. For what feels like a full minute you stand and stare, mouth gaping open. It's like you're hypnotised, unable to tear away from his urgent movements.
A particularly good stroke has him bucking into his hand, and he lets out this strained whimper that shoots directly between your legs.
Right, stop. This is wrong. How would you feel if he caught you? …OK, bad example.
Reluctantly, you close the door again as quietly as you can before climbing back into his bed to stare at the ceiling once more.
It looks like it's going to be a long night.
********************
“You look really great,” Chloe says as she strolls into the shop, handing you a coffee, “like, happier, more relaxed.”
It's a few days after your impromptu sleepover at Eddie's place, and she's absolutely right. You do look more relaxed, even you've noticed the change. There's more confidence in you, and a smile that was once a little forced is warm and genuine.
“Thanks, I think I'm getting more comfortable here.” It's not a lie, exactly, but it's certainly not the whole truth.
“Good, glad to hear it!” She beams at you and heads to her table.
The bell over the door chimes once again startling you. Miranda and Mac are already here and it couldn't possibly be Eddie this early.
“Um… Hi.” A gangly youth walks in, all arms and legs and bright blonde hair. He shuffles over to the counter awkwardly.
“Morning, can I help you?”
“Y-yeah, you do walk-ins today, right?” He asks, brandishing a crumpled flyer at you.
Face lighting up, you fix your best smile.
“Why yes we do, it's walk-in Wednesday. It's a little early though. Can I see some ID?
He hands it over. The guy's freshly 21 and knows it, puffing out his little pigeon chest with pride.
“Excellent. It's about 10 minutes until we open, but Miranda will be with you. Miranda, you got a book for this guy?”
Confusion paints Mirandas's face, but then she smiles.
“A walk in? Wow.” She strolls over and hands him her portfolio of designs, introducing herself.
When Eddie finally turns up, there's another guy waiting.
“You're not my 10:30.”
The poor boy looks at him nervously like he did something wrong.
“Eddie, he's a walk-in.” Mac says, calling over his shoulder.
Eddie smirks at you and leans over the counter.
“Well well, bet you're happy. Atta girl.”
Blushing profusely, you move to tap him on the arm in warning, but he grabs your hand and kisses it. Heat flies straight to your belly at the gesture.
“Let me know when my 10:30 is here, alright sweetheart?”
He's still holding your hand, brushing his fingers over your knuckles. Weakly you nod, gazing at him as your toes curl in your shoes.
Shooting you a wink, he ambles over to his station as you watch him, eyes drawn to the way he moves.
There's three more clients asking about Wednesdays; granted, one didn't have an ID, but the other two were seen and inked, and one even booked a follow up with Miranda.
Buzzing with job satisfaction, you're grinning when you nip to the restroom, walking through the narrow corridor. As you exit, you're immediately accosted by Eddie. He stands close, a hand loosely holding your wrist to keep you there as he bends to whisper in your ear.
“Now, you're not supposed to touch fine art, but someone's gotta pin you against the wall and nail you right.”
“Eddie!” You whisper shout at him, only serving to make him chuckle low in his throat.
“Sorry, couldn't resist. I have an idea, for that favour you owe me?”
Body tensing of its own accord, you look up at him, your cheeks flushed and mouth slightly parted. Before you can ask what it is, a voice cuts through the tension.
“Hey, keep it at home guys.”
Mac's standing at the other end of the corridor with his arms crossed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Pursing your lips, you wriggle from Eddie's grip.
“It's not what it looks like Mac, I promise.” You say, shouldering past Eddie.
“Come on sweetheart, don't get all shy on me now!” He shouts, walking after you.
You ignore him, giving Mac an apologetic look, and sit back down at the counter. God, that was embarrassing. Seems like professional and discreet are out the window.
“So, as I was saying-”
“Eddie, stop, not now.” you say, cheeks bright red.
“I was only-”
“Eddie please! I don't want to get into trouble!”
Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, but backs off finally.
You make a very clear point of being busy until the rest of the day, completing any ad hoc tasks you can think of. Tidying the stock cupboards, refreshing the consent sheets, and even organising the sparse counter. Anything to avoid further comment from Mac.
When six rolls around you turn to talk to Eddie, but he's already leaving without a glance at you.
Sighing, you make your way outside and home, trying to ignore the little sting in your chest.
********************
It's Saturday before you see him again. Your day off was mostly spent worrying about how you upset him and thinking about everything you could have done differently.
By the morning you're an emotional wreck, anxiety having done her job and left you a bubbling mass of maybes. When Eddie storms in the shop with a proverbial rain cloud over his head your heart pangs in your chest.
He's such a big character, and you didn't realise until now the influence this has on this place. Usually he's energetic and upbeat; however, with this melancholy energy coming from him, everyone seems to stoop a little more, eyes a touch downcast, movements more shuffled and broken. It's like a black hole has descended on the shop, pulling joy from your soul and sucking everything into its gravity.
The tattoo shop is quiet for a Saturday. Not from lack of customers; it's just a more hushed and sullen atmosphere. By the afternoon you decide enough is enough and you grab Eddie's arm between clients.
“Eddie, can I talk to you?”
He gets up, stretching his back in a feline movement, and walks with you slowly to the stockroom.
“Listen, I'm really sorry about what happened on Wednesday, I didn't want to upset you and I can't stand seeing you like this and-”
“Woah, sweetheart, slow down. You been worrying? About me?” He tilts his head, giving you a small lopsided smile.
“Yeah? I thought you were mad at me.” You mumble out.
“Oh, princess, come here.” He wraps you in his arms, holding your head close to his chest. A relieved breath puffs from your chest as you melt into the hug.
“That's not what I'm upset about, I promise.”
You pull from the embrace to look at him, a hopeful smile tugging at your lips.
“Really?”
Stroking your cheek softly, he presses his lips together. “You're adorable,” he moves his hand away and starts waving his arm about as he tells you what's wrong.
“You know I'm in a band? Well we've got this regular gig at Hatters, which is great and all, but I found out they're looking for more bands at The Pit. That big rock club on Main? I've been trying to get hold of the damn owner but he's ignoring all my calls and I'm pissed off.”
Grinning, you grab his arm. “Eddie, I can totally help you with that.”
His gaze is soft and warm as he asks “Really? You'd do that for me?”
“Of course I would. You got their number?”
He digs around in his pocket and passes you a wedge of shiny paper. Unfolding it, you look at the details, smiling even wider when you see they're attempting a ladies night. There's a telephone number at the bottom, the contact listed as William.
“I gotta idea. Just roll with it, OK?”
He looks confused but nods at you. Skipping to the counter, you pick up the phone and dial the number. When it's answered by a young woman, you speak with a nasal voice, sounding almost bored.
“Is Bill there?- Tell him it's Barb- oh trust me he's gonna wanna take this call honey.”
Eddie's staring at you with an amused expression; you look back at him, flashing a smile while you wait.
“Bill! How long has it been! Oh, don't say you don't remember me… oh, you do!- I'm good, I'm good- I'm managing this band, yeah, you've gotta book them- Corroded Coffin- yeah, yeah- They are hot right now, selling out their shows- look I know you're struggling getting the ladies in, but that's about to change. Their lead singer is- well lemme tell you, if I were a younger woman- haha yes, sounds great! Next Saturday?- Nine- Great stuff- I'll speak to you soon.”
Placing the phone down with a little click, you cross your legs and look at Eddie smugly.
His jaw may as well be on the floor, eyebrows so high that he resembles a cartoon character.
“Barb? Selling out their shows? If I were a younger woman? Where the fuck did that come from?”
You giggle, “I thought he'd listen if he thought I was a business connection. I took a shot, a little bullshit can take you far.”
He swoops over to you and grabs you in his arms, lifting you bodily from your seat and swinging you around as you squeal helplessly.
“Saturday? Not even midweek? Princess I owe you big time.”
“Eddie I already owe-”
He's not listening, running over to Mac and bouncing on the spot like a child. “Mac, Mac, did you hear? I'm playing at The Pit!!”
You watch as he explains what just happened; he's so animated, gesticulating wildly as loose locks of hair fly from his bun. Mac beams at him and hugs him in a fatherly motion before Eddie springs back over to you.
“Who the fuck is Barb?”
“I dunno, she sounded worldly.”
He grins, shaking his head, “I can't believe you lied for me. You seem… different lately. More confident. It suits you.”
Blushing, you thank him. For a second you stare at each other, both lost in the other.
Eddie shakes his head, and looks at the time.
“Fuck, right, I got 20 minutes, I'll be back!” He grabs his coat and runs out of the shop shouting “personal errand!”
Chuckling, you sit back down at the counter. Mac approaches, smiling softly.
“You did good Miss, he's really happy.”
“Thanks, I couldn't bear the sulking.”
He laughs and touches your shoulder, “he cares about you. In case you didn't notice.”
He walks away nonchalantly as if he didn't just drop a bomb at your feet. Eddie cares about you? You're still pondering it when he returns a half hour later looking sweaty and dishevelled.
“Princess, I got you a present,” he whispers, brandishing a nondescript black bag at you. You peek inside and shut it immediately.
“Eddie what the fuck!” You whisper, face flooding with blood at the sight as you hide it under the counter. There's a sex toy in the bag, well at least one, but you were so shocked at the sight you didn't get a good look.
He chuckles and leans in close. “Thought you'd like it.”
“Eddie I don't know how to- to use this stuff,” you mumble quietly, looking around to make sure no one's listening.
would you ever write anything about henderson!reader being adopted? i’d love to hear about her background if you were interested in writing about it!
i’d love to get a little bit more into what background i imagine for reader!! idrk a good way to do this in a drabble tho so i hope headcanons are okay :)
tysm for the ask <3
Warnings: 18+ mdni, angst, probably very inaccurate descriptions of the foster care system, some brief mentions of abuse/neglect, mention of drug addiction and overdose, a sentence or two that very very vaguely alludes to childhood sexual trauma
A/N: some of the things mentioned here are incredibly dark but i also tried to make it incredibly vague because i wasn’t trying to make this super sad or hard to read, please let me know if i missed anything in the warnings and absolutely send in more asks if you’re interested in anything else about tmic !! for @darlingdixon
➺ Dustin was seven years old when his parents got a divorce, and almost eight when his father moved out of state with little to no explanation. He sent letters and, for a little while, got postcards back— but after a year or so the postcards stopped coming.
➺ It was just before his ninth birthday that his mom asked how he would feel about having someone new in the house, almost like a sister. His nose wrinkled slightly at the thought of a baby in the house, but then she explained further. He didn’t understand all the specifics of foster care then, just that there was a fourteen year old girl who needed a place to live because she didn’t have a home or a family of her own. He was so sad just losing his dad; what would he do without anyone? Without anything? He’d hope somebody would be nice enough to share with him. He thought he could share with you.
➺ It was weird when you moved in. Mom bought you new things, replacing what used to be his dad’s office with your new bedroom. He was upset about it for a few days, but when you invited him in and set up the Mouse Trap board game that his dad never wanted to play with him, he realized that the room was a lot more fun than it used to be.
➺ Initially, your stay with the Hendersons was meant to be a temporary placement. Somewhere to stay for a few months, maybe even a year, while the system tried to find somewhere more permanent to put you. Your neglectful, drug-addicted ‘mother’ had overdosed three long years ago and your ‘father’s name wasn’t even on the birth certificate. But you’d already been through three short-term placement homes: the first, which put you through hell in ways you were too young to truly understand; the second, which only took you in for the money they would earn; and the third, which you were booted from the moment the couple learned they were expecting a child of their own. And now you were edging fifteen. Before too long, you would be placed in a group home, and you weren’t sure you could take that.
➺ It didn’t take long to realize that Claudia Henderson was different than the other foster ‘parents’ you’d stayed with. She made sure you were eating multiple balanced meals every day. She tried to watch movies with you. She offered to take you shopping, even in those record shops you could tell she thought were seedy. She tried to get you to open up about your past, and comforted you whenever you allowed her to. She welcomed you like you really were family, and you were sure that was because she had just lost some of her own. You felt for her, and her young son, and as the weeks passed you started to let yourself trust them more and more.
➺ You spent a lot of time with Dustin. It was far from your first time being around younger kids, but he was so easy to get along with. It didn’t take long for him to get comfortable with you, and soon he was knocking at your door nearly every afternoon to watch a movie, or go outside, or play a game. He liked to talk to you. He’d tell you about his day at school, and his friends, and sometimes he’d tell you about his dad— about him leaving and how it made him feel, about how he felt bad when he missed him and felt bad when he didn’t miss him. And you listened. You let him sit in your bed with you and look at your records, and lean on your shoulder. You told him it would all be okay, that it was okay to feel bad. And when he cried, you told him it was okay to do that too.
➺ Months ticked away and you started to worry about how much time you had left. When would you be swept away from these people you were beginning to care so much about? How could you leave Dustin? How long would you last if they put you in a group home?
➺ Until the day Claudia asked if you’d be comfortable with long-term placement. You wouldn’t have to live the next year and a half on edge wondering when your short-term placement would end. You could stay with them until you were adopted, or simply aged out of the system— a much more likely outcome considering not a lot of families were in the market for a teenager.
➺ So, you did.
➺ The months kept coming, and you only grew closer to the Hendersons. You got to decorate your own bedroom and help Dustin with his homework and learned to cook with Claudia; shortly after the two-year-mark, you even started to call her Mom.
➺ Your 16th birthday came, and by then you knew for certain that you weren’t going anywhere.
➺ When Dustin was pushing twelve years old, he still let you sit on the edge of his bed and read to him until he fell asleep. He pretended that he was getting too old for it, but he didn’t want to admit it still took him longer to fall asleep without it. You always asked him if you could so he didn’t have to say it.
➺ It was the summer before your senior year that Mom asked you if she could legitimately adopt you. Your eyes welled with tears immediately. You didn’t understand why she’d go through all the trouble, pay any legal fees required, when you were turning eighteen so soon.
➺ “Because I want us to become a family in every way we can before it’s too late.”
➺ And again, you did.
➺ You insisted you wanted to stay home and work more your senior year. She helped you manage a decent homeschool education, aided partially by staff at Hawkins High School, while you helped her work out the technicalities of adopting an almost-eighteen year old with no known living relatives.
➺ Dustin, of course, was thrilled about the adoption. He loved taking any excuse he found to talk about how his beloved sister was officially going to be a Henderson.
do you think once miss mouse and eddie were in an established relationship she’d bake cakes for his and adrie’s birthday every year?? i feel like she’d go full out for adrie like full on multi tiered princess cake and the first time she does it eddie and his baby just go absolutely feral in the best way possible
ps typ is my favourite slow burn EVER i love it withh all my heart ur so talented
today's my birthday so it seems fitting to answer this! wc: 496
morning dawns soft blue in a kitchen warmed by low lights, and orange coils. a kettle boils water too hot for a third cup of instant coffee, and cooked sugar enriched by vanilla bakes through the small apartment. suffocating heat from the oven on the early june day breaks sweat on your forehead as you re-whip the frosting you made an hour ago, plastic bowl in your arms still cold from the fridge. the yellow cake cooling on the rack simple, homemade. jack of all trades, master of none, it's nothing impressive, just something to tide adrie and neighborhood kids over until the big party on the weekend.
still, when your big snoring man shuffles in with a bedhead halo and plaid pajama pants with one drawstring longer than the other, his raw wonder catches the husky sleep deep in his throat—"aw, baby, what're you doin'?"
you shrug, too shy to admit how early you woke up to do this, suddenly embarrassed with your effort to make a good impression on his daughter's first birthday with you in her life. he had no clue what you had planned for her real cake, and already your cheeks went hot from the lovesick shine flooding his eyes, big softy about to cry while he scratched his stomach under his shirt.
"you're too much," he says in a shake of his head. too much on a thursday morning when her party comes saturday afternoon.
his bare feet scatter the balloons creeping across the carpeted floor, blown up by him late last night until he felt faint, and ready to be popped in the energetic rush of cake for breakfast. on his way to you, he passes the one wrapped gift of a latch hook rug kit beneath the happy birthday banner you hung crooked even with his help. it was a creativity driven present to keep her busy before she got her big girl bike in two days time. training wheels most definitely included.
any second now adrie would run through the streamers you both taped to the top of her door frame, so eddie made quick work of putting the frosting aside and smothering kisses atop your head, wielding his dad strength to hug you tight to his chest, steering you into a twirl by his hold on your wrists, rocking from foot to foot until your back was crushed to his front.
tucking his chin to mash his nose to your hair, his heavy hum vibrates through your skull as he surveys the usual munson fare mingling with your new traditions, slowing your bodies to a gentle sway until his sigh empties from his lungs. "you mean everything to us, you know that?"
"i know that," you answer so softly it was lost in the bubbling hiss from the kettle before he shut off the burner. "you're everything to me, too."
"thank you, baby."
"thank you, handsome." thank you for this moment, this family, this love.
A/N: takes place in the too much in common realm but isn't a part of the main series !! song is witchy woman by the eagles <3
In a town like Hawkins, there weren’t many occasions that fishnets were suitable for. So, by the time you did eventually wear them again, you had pretty much forgotten about the ‘promise’ you’d made Eddie. He hadn’t, of course.
“Are you sure we have to go, baby?” His fingers clawed at your hips through the thin black dress you wore. “C’mon, let’s just stay in tonight.”
“I didn’t just spend two hours getting ready to ‘stay in’. Plus, I’m excited. I like getting out of town and doing things every now and then, and Steve said this place is supposed to be really cool.” You eyed him in the mirror as you swiped on some lip gloss. The red of his button-up was so deep it was almost black, tucked into his black jeans with the top three buttons undone. Silver chains hung from his belt loops, matching his rings and the barbell in his tongue that had just recently finished healing. Another silver chain sat around his wrist which was soon joined by a hair tie, his boots thudding heavily– even on the carpet– when he grabbed it from your nightstand.
“I don’t know how much of a club person I’m gonna be,” He warned you. “I don’t really dance.”
“Just because you don’t doesn’t mean you can’t,” You pointed out. “And you don’t really have to dance, I’m not expecting you to waltz. You just have to grind on me, and that I know you can do.”
He gave a conceding sigh. “Fine, I guess if it’s an excuse to dry hump you in public we can go.”
“Ever the romantic, Munson.”
The others were already ordering the first round when you got there, the bartender passing out shots until you reached the bar and Steve pushed two more toward you. “Took you guys long enough!” He called over the music.
“Can’t rush perfection, Harrington.” Grabbing the small glass, you passed the other one to Eddie. Knocking it back, you determined it was vodka and not tequila with a grateful nod to Robin. “Are we getting a table?”
“You two grab one, I wanna get another round!” Robin shouted back with enthusiasm.
Flashing her a thumbs up, you grabbed a hold of Eddie’s hand and ushered him toward a big, dimly lit corner booth. “There’s a lot ‘a people here,” He observed as you set your purse on the table.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Drawing him in with your arms around his neck, you hummed, “Just you ‘n me, as far as I’m concerned.”
He palmed at your ass through the silky black satin of your dress as he countered, “The things I’d do to you if it were just you ‘n me would get us arrested if I did them here, babe.”
“Alright, you guys can play grab-ass in a minute, we’re doing more shots!” Steve called as the three of them approached the table, all of them carrying at least one.
“No more for me, I’ve gotta take her home after all this.” Leaning over your shoulder, he prepared to push it back across the table to Steve but was stopped by your hand over his.
“Uh, excuse you. I can drink for two, thank you.” Holding his hands up in surrender, he raised his eyebrows, making a smile crack through your falsely offended expression. He didn’t blink as he watched you swallow down one shot after the other. A clear droplet escaped your mouth, rolling down your neck to disappear between the valley of your breasts and into your dress. He could so vividly imagine how it would taste to follow the intoxicating trail with his tongue.
His gaze was ripped from your chest by the snap of Steve’s fingers, who was giving him a knowing, playfully chastising look. “Could you keep it in your pants a little while longer, Munson?”
You were too engrossed in a conversation with Nancy to pay them any mind as he responded. “Shh, you’re gonna get me in trouble. And I’ll have you know, I have the patience of a saint,” He added unconvincingly.
That finally got your attention, making you let out a little snort. “Oh-kay, babe, if you say so.”
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just c’mon, I’m ready to dance!”
“You mean you’ve drank enough to now?” He scoffed as you dragged him away from the table.
“Yep!” The music vibrated through the floors as you led him through the half-crowded dance floor. You weaved through the various friends, couples, and parties until you found a comfortable gap. Your boyfriend just chuckled and shook his head.
Turning to face him, you let your arms settle loosely around his neck once again as you moved to the music. His hands squeezed at your waist before moving lower to knead at the small of your back. The two of you eyed each other lovingly, with you brushing a few unruly strands of hair back from his face as he admired the hazy halo the lights cast around you. Before you could think of something to say to excuse your silent drooling, the sound of the next song beginning distracted you. The soft, deep thrum of guitars and bass had the faintest excited gasp escaping your lips. “I love this song!”
raven hair and ruby lips
sparks fly from her fingertips
echoed voices in the night
she’s a restless spirit on an endless flight
His hands held you steady as you bowed back ever so slightly, head tilting as you swayed in his arms. You slowly began to wind your hips in time with the music, silently mumbling the chorus. Eddie smiled softly, humming along as he watched your eyes fall closed.
woo-hoo, witchy woman
see how high she flies
woo-hoo, witchy woman
she got the moon in her eye
He caught you by surprise when he took both of your hands, spinning you and bringing his arms over your head to cross around your waist. You giggled and squealed quietly, tilting your head to look over your shoulder at him as your back pressed to his chest. “See, Munson, you’ve got moves!”
“As long as I still don’t have t’a dust off my waltz, I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” He promised.
she held me spellbound in the night
dancin’ shadows and firelight
crazy laughter in another room
and she drove herself to madness with a silver spoon
You could already feel him half-hard against you as you wound your hips more intently. Eddie’s fingers dragged up your fishnet-covered thighs, lifting the skirt of your dress dangerously high before moving to grab at your waist again. “Driving me fuckin’ crazy, baby. Know I love you so much, right?”
Head falling back against his chest, you gazed up at him with glossy eyes and a tipsy grin. “I love you too, Eds. Love you so much.” His hands wandered, rubbing over your sides and your stomach as his hips ground into you. Your own hand reached back to wind into his hair, curls growing frizzier in the warmth of the club. Goosebumps began to raise on your skin when he mouthed sloppily at your neck, teeth grazing a sensitive spot before lifting to tug at your earlobe. With the way the blood was rushing in his veins and his head was starting to swim, he may as well have been as drunk as you. The sweet smell of your perfume and the taste of your skin was still enough to make the room spin.
woo-hoo, witchy woman
see how high she flies
woo-hoo, witchy woman
she got the moon in her eye
Far be it from him to complain when you grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him in the direction of the bathroom before the song could even reach its instrumental break. You had never been so grateful for a single-person restroom in your life. Eddie hissed and laughed when you let the door slam shut, fingers clawing at the buttons of his shirt as he reached around you to lock it.
You only managed to get two of the buttons undone before his hand covered yours, pressing it against his chest to stop you as he chuckled softly. “Baby, baby– not here.”
Huffing, you pouted up at him. “Then why’d you let me bring you in here?”
“Well, it wasn’t to strip naked in a public bathroom,” He confirmed. Urging you backward, he didn’t stop until your lower back met the sink counter. “I do seem to remember a promise a certain someone made me a couple months ago, though.”
“Eddie,” You whine. Clutching at his shirt, you tried to draw his body to yours completely as he stood between your legs. “I don’t remember, just touch me. I’ll do whatever you want me to later, but–”
“Oh, I’m gonna need that in writing, babe. Right now, though, you just have to lean back and spread your legs f’me. Okay, sweet girl?”
Nodding, you were already sighing in relief when his hands guided your thighs back toward your chest. He peeled your panties to the side from underneath your fishnets, and it wasn’t until you felt his tongue drag through the wetness he found there that you finally remembered the oh-so-important promise you’d made.
well, i know you want a lover; let me tell you, brother
she’s been sleepin’ in the devil’s bed
and there’s some rumors going ‘round, someone’s underground
she can rock you in the nighttime ‘til your skin turns red
You were already a mess, your dress bunched around your waist and straps falling off your shoulders. Your disheveled hair wouldn’t be so easy to fix, but it was clear to see you had little concern for what your fellow patrons would think. No, you were too focused on the feeling of Eddie sliding two fingers into you as his tongue ring massaged your clit.
If he were a responsible boyfriend, he would remind you to quiet down, but he just couldn’t help himself. He loved when you got drunk– loved when he could see the tension in your shoulders melt away and you got warm, and giggly, and loud– loved when you’d moan and gasp his name without even realizing you were doing it because the first and only thing you were thinking about was how good he made you feel.
So, when you cried out that you were gonna come, he didn’t stop. He didn’t hush you, or cover your mouth with his hand. He just crooked his fingers to the spot he knew always made your insides melt and hummed encouragingly against the wet warmth of your cunt, mesmerized by the sight of you writhing on the counter before him.
Hips still twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm, you pulled him to you for a sloppy kiss that had him panting like a dog in heat. The doe-eyed look you gave him when you finally spoke was almost enough to make him drop to his knees for you a second time. “Take me home, Eds.”
sweet leaf was incredible😭 i’m kinda sad it’s over becasue i loved it so much but i’m so happy with how it ended<3 if your interested in doing any blurbs or anything for this fic i’d love to see them say their i love you’s to eachother
i threw that bit of eddie saying it in the final chapter hoping i could do something little like this lol so tysm for this ask
series masterlist
You were unconscious the first time Eddie told you he loved you. It was still a bit of a secret then, as you slept peacefully against his chest the night before you told Dustin about your relationship. You didn’t hear him and, though you weren’t meant to, that left the heavy feeling of those words on his tongue. It was like he was choking on them every moment he was around you.
When you played songs you hadn’t known he’d loved or wore a piece of clothing he’d never seen before or waited up for him after a show– it all made him feel like he had to duct tape his mouth just to keep it shut. Generally, he felt like he did a good job reading you, but you seemed to struggle with some things like this and the last thing he wanted was to force you to move too fast. He wanted to wait for the right time. Still, he only had so much self-restraint; about three weeks’ worth of restraint, to be more specific.
It had been crushing him that day, the weight of those words. From the moment you’d called him that morning to confirm your plans, ‘til the moment he found himself watching you from his desk. He was supposed to be working on the campaign; it would be coming to a close soon and he needed something that would really knock those little dweebs on their asses but, lo and behold, he kept getting distracted. Your shorts left your legs mostly bare, your sock-covered feet rubbing absentmindedly against his bed as you worked your way through the fifth chapter of The Hobbit, which he’d implored you to read after finding out you hadn’t yet. He loved the serious, pout-like expression you always wore when you read. Fingers tapping against the hardback cover in time with the music, you hadn’t noticed him staring, only looking up when he finally spoke.
“I love you.”
He almost physically slapped his hand over his own mouth, like silencing himself now could make you forget hearing them. Your eyes were wide with surprise, but he couldn’t determine what that emotion clearly blended with it was. Discomfort? Pity?
But then your eyes nearly glazed over with a warm look of something like adoration, a look you sometimes got when he helped you with things and when you smoked– and especially after sex. That sheepish, awe-filled expression that always stops his heart in his chest. When you replied, your voice was small and bashful, but oh so sweet. “I love you too, Eddie.”
Since then, he says it all the time. When you’re on the phone, when you’re having dinner, when you’re having sex, when he watches you smoke…
“Goodnight, sweetheart, I love you.”
“Love you, gorgeous.”
“Fuck yes, baby, love you so fuckin’ much.”
“God, I’m in love with you. My pretty girl.”
He says it so much he starts to worry that you’ll get sick of it, but every time you get that flustered, doe-eyed look on your face and softly murmur back, “I love you more, Eds.”
✶The garage gets slammed with clients, and the clear delineation between workplace flirting and PDA is put to the test when stolen kisses in the storage closet aren't enough, over the clothes touching leads to frustration, and getting interrupted in the breakroom leaves Eddie aching.✶
NSFW — smut, porn with plot, dry humping, oral (receiving), pussydrunk!eddie, horny depravity at work, van sex, masturbation, swallowing, teasing, sexual tension, hickeys (giving), reader and eddie are verbally harassed by a customer, protective!eddie, protective!reader, 18+
Your digital alarm clock wasn’t worth its price tag when the power flickered, and the blinking numbers of 12:00 seared into your tired retinas, really highlighting the fact that the two fat backup batteries hadn’t been replaced since you lived in a dorm. Whatever—It wasn’t that late, just late enough to cause a sweat when you were half hanging out of Robin’s car, wrestling with a spare umbrella while the sleeves of your light gray Champion college sweatshirt were darkening from ice-slushed rain. Oh, and because that wasn’t enough, the bottom of your pants waded through a puddle in the auto shop’s parking lot, too.
Stupid cursed town.
Swearing under your breath, you sped towards the employee door, and your expectation of a teasing remark from Carl about your tardiness lapsed into stark bewilderment.
You shook off your umbrella, and tossed it in the only available corner inside the cramped garage. Between the shuttered doors were four motley muscle cars parked back-to-back in various makes and models from yesteryears, bright colors announcing themselves amply. As you neared one, a quick shadow passed over the floor from the lobby door opening, widening the men’s muffled voices inside into clear conversation, and closing. You turned to greet them, but the words caught in your chest.
Eddie crowded you two steps backwards, away from the windows, and tucked you to the concrete wall where privacy could be had.
Heat stung your cheeks at the sight of your boyfriend of thirty-two hour’s careful attention on you. Thoughts on thoughts on thoughts wore themselves like a fever under your thick winter scarf. The same fingers he fiddled with to release his nervous tension were once tracing your spine. Not two days ago the big pink tongue he pressed to his teeth licked the intimacy between your breasts. Frazzled curls stood from the rest of his hair as if your hands had been through them time and time again. Soft concern edged the beautiful brown of his eyes analyzing your expression as he did when your bodies were entwined on his couch—yet, in this moment, he idled a measured distance away, guilt weighing heavily on his posture.
The tender rot of apology weakened his tone, “Hey, baby. I’m sorry about not calling. My power’s been out since I got home the other night, and I only just got it back this morning. I hope.. I hope that’s okay.” Reading the quick flit of your eyes falling to his hands and back up, his voice erred remorseful, “I promise I would’ve called.”
“Aw, handsome,” you released. Slotting your fingers into the cup of his palms, you narrowed the space between you in a squishy tennis shoe step. “Our phone line’s down too, and the power’s been going off and on. You didn’t think I was mad at you, did you? Even if something came up and you couldn’t get around to it, I would’ve understood.” The shelf of his shoulders were dotted with rain. “Were you pacing outside?” Meaning: were you so anxious you made yourself nauseous?
“No, no, this is just from dropping Adrie off. Uhm, I actually.. I know I look nervous—couldn’t help it once I saw you, ha,” he broke into a shy giggle, already sticking his gaze on his thumbs engulfing your knuckles. “But uhm, I actually wasn’t worried about you being upset with me. I know you said that when I dropped you off, but I’m getting better at not, ah, freaking out. Thinking of the worst case scenario, shit like that.” A glance through his lashes, and his lips stretched into a sly grin, rounding his cheeks. “I know we’re good. You and me.”
“Yeah, we’re good.” You leaned in, a hint of mischievousness marking your suggestive tone, “More than good.”
“More than good,” he repeated in a smiley mumble. “Just didn’t want you gettin’ the impression I’m some jerk who forgets to call his girl.”
His girl, his girl, his girl.
“I’d never think so poorly of the sweetest man alive.”
Magic happened. There, in his labored swallow, and your fluttery blink. An invisible pull encouraging your bodies closer, sliding your shoulder along the cold wall of your workplace. Seeking heat where it was found against his belly, standing the peach fuzz on your arms at attention from a single brush of your fingertips over his jumpsuit. Want, need; a wish to relieve the burn of pride in your chest, longing to reward him for his progress of keeping a level head when he could’ve spiraled into negative thoughts, yearning to kiss his rosy cheeks aglow with respect. But under the guide of his excessively gentle thumb strokes over your knuckles, a truth was earned. To him, it didn’t feel appropriate to kiss where people could see. Where people could fawn, pry, ask questions, put pressure on something so new. The desire was there. Oh, the desire was there in his gaze dipping to your lips, and staying.
Remembering Saturday, you inhaled sharply. “Oh! I didn’t tell you the good news. Robin got a call the other day, and—”
The voices in the lobby grew. One gruffed out—“Hey, you two?”—and you released each other’s hands, jolting apart. “Wanna get up to date on this shitstorm of a week?” Mr. Moore asked, motioning you both inside with two succinct waves of his clipboard.
A feeble look was exchanged from Eddie to you. The good news would have to wait. Talking would have to wait. Discussing the events from the weekend and all the pretty words he wanted you to hear while his mouth was nurturing the intimate skin beneath your paint-stained crewneck would have to wait.
Following your boss to the circle of employees gathered in front of your desk, Carl and Kevin said hello with raised eyebrows, and Mr. Moore flipped through the sheets on his clipboard, catching you up to speed. “So, lucky us," he said, tone betraying the luck, "the storm hit Springfield harder than Hawkins, so the annual Classic Car Show was moved down here this weekend." Rolling his hand, he grumbled—guy said the ol' historic buildings downtown would look nice in photos—"Anyway, all those uppercrust sons’a are gonna start droppin’ their cars off here for last minute maintenance, or whatever damn hell Roy was sayin'. He sent what parts he had, but we'll have to put in an emergency order, and of course the damn phone is still out."
Mr. Moore targeted you. "We can not," he stressed, "can not accept normal customers this week with all these yuppies comin' in. Unless it’s an emergency, just turn them away, or point 'em towards Thatcher's if they need their tires rotated. Got it?"
So, that explains why Eddie's eyes were welded shut in preparation for the arduous day ahead. The cavity between your hand and his could’ve been filled with a supportive squeeze, maybe a silent assurance in the passing touch, but you tore your gaze from the myriad of grievances wrinkling his expression, and answered your boss, "Got it."
Papers were divvied, sighs were had. With a hard clap of Mr. Moore’s meaty hands on each of your shoulders, he guaranteed a generous bonus for the extra work, and dismissed the group. You pivoted to collecting mail-in order forms for car parts in case the phones didn't work by the afternoon, and the men went off to the garage where hours were lost to the heavy clank of tools making clockwork.
As the day yawned to noon, Eddie’s ears were ringing. He fetched his Walkman from the car, and blasted music through its shitty foam cups in effort to destroy his hearing with something preferable. Amongst the mayhem of cars rolling out of the service bay and being immediately replaced by another, he curled his fingers in a small wave at his favorite Office Administrator, but you missed it on account of the old man at your counter needing the keys for his ‘57 Chevrolet Bel Air.
It was a lonely day. A busy day. An aching day where the itch to connect with each other led to melancholy behind every antsy glance through the windows gone unmet.
Your lunch was a limp sandwich eaten between visiting clients, and when Eddie ate, he did it with his back facing you, bent over the work table on the far wall, mixing cleaning solution for an engine block in between sips of Campbell's tomato soup.
In the wait for a muscle car to be exchanged for a truck requiring new brake pads belonging to the mom with two kids in the lobby who needed it for work the next day, Eddie sought you for comfort in the breakroom, but you had walked to the post office after the rain let up, and by the time you got back, you shrugged off his jacket, picked up a stack of clean rags from the storage closet, and used them as an excuse to enter the noisy garage.
Handing off the rags was the closest either of you had been since that morning. Skin contact was bittered by the barrier of his black nitrile gloves, and the interaction was stained by grime sketching the fine lines of his tired face, stress preying on his mood when you pulled away. He needed you.
Miss you, you mouthed.
Miss you, baby, he returned.
Eddie went back to his project. You went back to organizing paperwork. When you checked the phone line, it wasn’t even joy which influenced your forced smile at him through the window. It was just more work when the dial tone answered.
Busy, busy, busy. No respite for conversation, not even between the mechanics. Kevin’s goodbye was offered as the sun hung low in the sky, touching the tree line. Carl knocked on the hood of the car David was working on to get his attention before clocking out for the night. In retrospect, Mr. Moore was the only one who held a proper conversation with Eddie, telling him he’d be in his office for a bit, and he’d stay late to help on the final set of cars.
In the last slants of daylight dragging through tree branches, Eddie focused on the Mustang Mach 1 in front of him. Sun at his back, wiping sweat from his forehead. Wasting his time on small detail work he wasn’t normally paid to do, yet finding some fulfillment in clearing the nooks of leaf debris and polishing excess grease out of the crannies, salivating at the reward at the end of it: a fat check.
Indeed, he was lost in fantasies of how he’d spend his money when a commotion invaded his mind palace, infiltrating the blank air of his cassette clicking to the end of its tape. Eddie pushed the headphones down to his neck, squinting at the windows to the lobby.
His sweetheart’s face was set with bored malice. An air of disregard, but annoyed all the same. Softly narrowed eyes, loose shoulders, crossed legs. Listening to the man who leaned over the heightened front of your receptionist desk with a pointed finger you didn’t care for, and moving your mouth in a rehearsed response. The man’s voice raised, tanned skin gone blotchy. Spitting mad. You flinched at his irate gestures nearing too close for comfort.
Instant. Adrenaline whipped Eddie forward. Muscles flexed into action, constricted, strained, prepared and loaded, roiling with power ripping open the glass door, sending loose papers flying off the black tool cart, including the one with the man’s name he recognized—
How could he forget?
Square jaw, springy curls cropped close to his skull. Light brown hair extending to the shitty wisps on his upper lip not any better than a grandma could grow. Ditch the letterman jacket for a suit and tie all he wanted, but there was no mistaking Andy, best friend of Jason and player on Hawkins’ High basketball team who helped scar Eddie Munson’s frail reputation after that fateful party he never went to.
Someone he was lucky to dodge at most preschool functions by virtue of his son being nursery-aged.
“—It’ll be ready tomorrow,” you finished in uniform curt.
“Listen better, bitch, I don’t have time for—”
“Hey!” Eddie’s voice packed the tiled room in an authoritative boom with the same fury he entered, commanding the space, possessing the attention as papers floated to the ground behind him. Shifting in his stance, his heart pounded against the strict discipline he leashed himself to, gaining control of his volume for your sake. Quieting to a seethe, he forced out, “You can’t speak to her that way.”
The subject of his ire slid his snakey gaze to him, deducing his long hair, his cheap cassette player, his jumpsuit. Sizing him up. Assessing him. Casting judgements.
Holding reign with a steady pupil on his target, Andy straightened himself from the desk. His expression wore neutral, hands pushing himself away from the ledge and rolling his shoulders with casual controlled dominance. His ugly red tie slipped against his white poly-cotton button down shirt at the motion, following his slow turn towards someone he thought so lowly of. “Figures you’d be here,” he said, jaw jutted in a lax chew as if he were sucking on a toothpick. “This the only place that’d hire a scumbag like you? Hm?”
Fingers stretched and flexed. Veins coursed with heated blood. Sweaty palms were crushed closed.
But it wasn’t Eddie who responded—no—it was his little Mouse.
Jumping from your seat, your chair rolled into the rackety filing cabinets behind you, causing a scene with your hand striking the desk. “You can’t talk to him that way!”
Andy arched an eyebrow at your bark, however, he propped his elbow up in a lazy lean on your binder-clipped manila folders, and held a mutual gaze with the man opposite him. “Sweetie,” he patronized, addressing you with a smug crook of his lips aimed to taunt Eddie further, “this devil worshiper here preys on pretty girls like you. Don’t defend his honor. He’s got none.” With a cocky tongue click, he licked his bottom lip, reveling in the storm brewing in his doormat’s eyes. There was history in the words he chose. They were crafted for The Freak of Hawkins specifically. The rumors he was known for. The lies. Also, the truths.
Testosterone suggested violence in Eddie’s deliberate refusal to blink, but anger did not darken his cheeks in reveals of red as they oft do, nor did he rear a fist like you wanted to. Hard pumps of aggression strained the tendons in his neck, creating shadows along the thick blue vein leading to his strong jaw, but otherwise much of his reaction was reserved, contained in his stoney expression and hidden beneath his biding posture, waiting. Assessing. For years he endured his name being spat on, and he was only beginning to understand the toll of surrendering.
“You’re new here, aren’t cha?” Andy spoke to you, but matched the trained stare across from him. “There’s no need to stand up for this creep. He’s just some lowlife who begs for table scraps, and still can’t coerce girls into giving him the time of day. Kinda pathetic, don’t ya think?” Tone sneering to a scoff, he added to Eddie, “S’kinda miracle you managed to procreate.”
“Shut up!”
This anonymous man regarded you finally. Confusion hung heavy on his brow, curious as to why you were so adamant about protecting someone like him. Then, he dropped his head to the side, enough to see you, and raked his glare over your body, pausing his study on one place in particular.
Your jaw dropped at the audacity, throwing a hand over your stomach on instinct.
Andy involved you with a nod. “This another chick you knocked up?”
Quickfire, Eddie snatched starchy fabric and knotted silk in his fist, dragging him in by his tie, smothering his wet grunt of surprise with a vice grip on his shirt. They were the same height, but when pitted against steel toe boots, leather loafers lost. Not that he needed the extra inch. A different danger lurked in Eddie’s minimal movements, reeling the other man closer without much effort. Enough intimidation lived in his clenched jaw and quivering muscles to show he was not tucking tail and rolling over.
“Hey now,” Andy rasped against the solid threat of knuckles digging into the hollow of his throat, taming him from uttering more. He raised his hands in defense, manicured nails atop soft fingers atop softer palms.
“Watch your mouth,” Eddie enunciated, slow and warning.
Knocked off status by the brave chin challenging him, Andy’s nostrils flared, but his amusement didn’t waver. Under pressure, he wrung the corner of his mouth, lifting his fuzzy upper lip in sly charm while he puzzled out the dynamic between the cool-headed receptionist who’d gone rabid at a bit of joking, and the blue-collar mechanic who abstained from standing up for himself, but sure as hell did when it involved you.
A smirk dared to stretch across his face.
Andy tucked his eyebrows in, and pleaded, “Don’t tell me you already brought more annoying spawn into this world.”
Visions of red gushed over Eddie’s scarred, dirty knuckles, but the reality was ripped from him before he explored the sweet relief.
Dying to get your hands on a ghost from his past, you competed for the shirt on Andy's back. Grabbing his shoulder, you tore him from your beloved’s grasp, slinging him backwards on stumbling feet. You didn’t let the fucker catch his footing before you rammed your shoulder into him with all your scrappy might. “You wish you were half as good of a man as he is!” Growled through bared teeth and trembling with malice. “You’ll never compare. You can’t! I feel sorry for everyone you’ve ever met.” Snarled from darker depths than witless gossip about a man you adored, slapping your hands hard on his chest, shoving him. “Get out!” Shove. “Out!” Push. "And if you ever—ever!—bring up Adrie again, I'll fucking.."
His wild eyes searched for Eddie across the room, but you demanded respect.
Harder shove, striking palms where it hurt—making him cough. “Get the fuck out!”
His steps faltered, disoriented by the polarity of the quiet bitch behind the desk being the one to catch him off guard, attacking him before he could gather his dignity and stop. fucking. tripping. “You little—!”
“Out!” You cut a fierce line with your arm, pointing at the streets. “Leave! Out! Now!” Shove.
Scrambling, slipping on the wet tile, the metal corner of the door handle bit his squishy palm, pulling a hiss from gritted teeth. Shove. Point. Bark. He yanked the door open with a slew of words you’d only tolerate from Eddie when he said them in the heat of your bodies joining in sweet passion, and you let him know with a guttural grunt, pushing Andy out and into the parking lot where a puddle of ice water awaited his shoes. Squish, squish, squelch. He found his footing on the cracked pavement, huffing and puffing with haughty swipes at his clothes, dusting them off on the way to his Cadillac.
You followed his retreat with two proud middle fingers, shouting, “Take that ugly hood ornament and shove it up your ass!” When his shoulders squared like he was going to turn around, you yelped and scurried inside, locking the door only to hear him spit on the ground. Gravel crunched afterwards, and you assumed the tire screech was him leaving.
Dry gulp. Pounding heart. Aching wrists. Loud blood rushing everywhere. Vision vibrating from the adrenaline pulsing between your ears. You got your bearings, and turned to Eddie—except, he wasn’t there. No one was in the lobby. No one was in the garage, either. Down the hall there was a sulking shadow cast across the floor, growing smaller as it sat down.
You went towards the breakroom, passing by Mr. Moore’s head peeking out of his office. Creases from a notebook marked his cheek. Groggy and confused, he asked, “You handle whatever that was?”
“I did.”
“Well,” he shrugged. “Good on ya.” He shrank back into the dark room, returning to his nap.
Approaching the round table with caution, you picked the plastic chair next to Eddie and sat gingerly, noiselessly. Hands folded, upper body turned, waiting for him to speak first. And when he didn’t, you prodded. “Are you okay?”
Eddie unlocked his twined thumbs, and dropped a heavy hand on your knee, patting you. “Yeah, I’m okay, baby,” he replied softly. He didn’t pull his gaze from the wall, blinking only when he brought himself out of his ruminations to pat you again. Blank expression, hollow. Legs spread wide, ruling the space while your thighs were tucked tight together, same as any day you’d share lunch while he brainstormed a campaign idea, writing the story in his head and forgetting to hold a conversation with you. But his silence separated you. You needed more from him.
“Do you want a hug?” you asked.
Pat, pat. “Nah, I’m good, I promise,” he said with a bit more sureness lifting his tone.
Staring holes into the side of your boyfriend's face for far longer than it took to lose faith in telepathy, you swallowed through the scratchy rasp taken hold of your throat after yelling at a customer, and guided him, “Can I have a hug?”
“Oh shit, right, sorry!” The cluelessness jumped off of him as he sat up and wrapped his arms around you, scooping you to his chest. Your cheek picked up a healthy amount of dirt when sliding past his, and his headphones smoothed most of his hair from entering your mouth, but as sweaty and filthy the hug was, his crushing hold on you was everything a platonic coworker could ask for after being verbally harassed. A forearm behind the shoulder blades, a kind splay of fingers on the mid-back. Polite. “I’m sorry he yelled at you.”
Arms trapped against his chest, you bunched the collar of his coveralls in your fists, and he hummed into the comfort of your reciprocation, no matter how covert while your boss was one door down.
“S’okay,” you whispered. Nudging towards his ear, you smeared the sweat at his hairline onto your temple in a blessing. “My first job was at a McDonald’s drive thru. I was fourteen. I’m used to men in business suits yelling at me.” Caught between a sympathy snort and cringe, he offered another apology and pulled his face away.
His eyes and smile went soft, losing their strength from a different emotion trickling in. “Should I have decked that guy? Did you want me to do that? Did you want me to stand up for you, and knock ‘im out?”
“And risk you getting an assault charge on your name? Uh, no. I’m more than capable of standing up to a guy who won’t hit back because I’m a woman.”
Nodding against his ego, he took a moment to mull it over, and dropped into a serious tone, “I don’t want it to seem like I was letting him walk all over me, either. Not that long ago I would’ve freezed up. Probably would’ve sat there, taken it, and fixed his car while he watched. Then I would’ve gone home and cried about it because I’d be so fucking mad at myself for not dislocating his jaw. But,” he paused to run his tongue over the back of his teeth, settling the anger he harbored after the years of unapologetic abuse he tolerated.
He exhaled in a two-count, inhaled on three.
Collecting himself, sincerity replaced the animosity. “But since me and you have started hanging out, I can see how wrong he is, and it just—sorta–doesn’t bother me anymore, y’know? Like, I don’t even have to think about it, I know I’m not those things he said.” He strummed his thumb over your shoulder, soothing the lingering fight shivering through your body, invoking care in his words to calm your racing heart, and his. “I kinda lost it when he brought you and Adrie into it, and I’m glad you intervened when you did, before I did something I regretted, but I’m sorry for what he said. Or what he was, ah, implying about you..”
“Wasn’t really an insult, anyway.”
“Hm?”
“You know, as if it’d be a bad thing to be—uh, uh..” Your stomach clenched from the impact of his gaze falling to it. The sentence would never be finished, and it didn’t need to be. Your mindless chatter proved your subconscious thoughts loud and clear. It wouldn’t be an insult to be pregnant with your child.
Panic prickled your nervous system hummingbird fast. Slews of mortification reached your eyes, urging him not to draw conclusions based on something you blurted on the spot, because—because—just—Jesus Christ, man, please move on.
Shifting topics with more tact than his faintly stuttered exhale would suggest, he shook the stiffness from his posture by clearing his throat, and narrowed his eyes in a curious squint. Dropping his head to you, his fingers skimmed the clasp of your bra band through your sweater, and one of his anxieties was stroked into the relationship with a pivotal question, “Can you tell me, are there cameras in here?”
Without looking, you thought of the layout. “No, there’s just the two outside. One facing the entrance, the other facing the intersection. Why—umph?” He stole the concern from your lips.
Crashing mouth on mouth, he moaned at the relief of having you after a shitty day, and you doubled his vigor, dragging him in by his clothes until it hurt. Spine bent, hips to hard plastic, lips smashed against teeth, joints leading to your strained fingertips twisted above his embroidered name tag. You kissed him until it ached, until he was sated, until lungs burned for breath. It was the best change of subject, because when Eddie flirted his bottom lip along yours after you broke for air and his spit mixed with tangy salt on your tongue and gritty earth between your teeth, you wondered if the primal emotion steeped in his heavy-lidded eyes was the result of the same phrase repeating in his head as yours. Knocked up.
“Do you think it’s okay if we kiss like this? As long as we’re alone?”
“Yeah,” you guessed. “I think it’s okay if we’re alone. Not while customers are out there, or in front of the guys. We should be good, if that’s what you want.”
“Yeah,” he repeated. “I’d like that.”
You accepted his forehead against yours, feeling him sag with a tired groan. Exhausted from responsibilities, emotionally drained and succumbing to the crook of your neck, depending on you to rejuvenate him with tiny, smiley pecks at the top of his ear. Poor man.
As usual, you were the bearer of his weight, trusted to hold him up and be the pillar of strength as his arms fell to your hips, hands at the waistband of your jeans, ambitions decidedly pious as his fingertips explored the ridge of a stretchmark on your lower back. “Ed?” You tucked some loving caresses through the hair at the base of his nape, working circles into his oily roots. “I never got to tell you my good news.”
“Oh!” He piped up, coming into focus, face alight with excitement from your giggle.
“Bobbie got the call, and our apartment is ready!”
There was hardly a predictability to how Eddie would react to things. Sometimes sharing stories about your past in New York would earn his disinterest; sometimes he was eager to listen. Talking about the future was the same. Sometimes his gaze drifted faraway when you brought up the potential of your favorite Chinese restaurant closing before you could have the #4 special again, and sometimes he needled you about learning to drive before he finds you and your bike crumpled in a ditch on the side of the road one of these days.
But worry not, the sunshine grin breaking across his lips warmed you in all the right places.
“No shit?” he released in a breathless, excited laugh. “No more living with the Buckley’s, huh?”
“Mhm! No more competition while solving the Wheel of Fortune, but I think I’ll live. Especially if it means having my own bathroom.”
“Nice, nice, nice. And, uh,” he broke off to trace a pattern on your pants, “And, if I may ask because I’m an upstanding gentleman who wants to lend his strength without the expectation of reward, when exactly do you move in?”
“This weekend.”
“Oh,” he flattened. Voice monotone—Oh. Also known as ‘fuck’ or ‘damn.’ “Corroded Coffin has a gig in Indy this weekend. Drive there Saturday morning, come back Sunday around 3, maybe 4AM, if I rush.” He started mumbling to himself, “But, maybe—if Wayne can watch Adrie on Sunday, I could still— Or if she stays where I can see her and doesn’t get in the way, she can come, and I’ll help bring in big furniture, some heavy boxes. Set up your bed for you, the TV, uh, does the place come with a fridge? I could do that too. Make sure all your outlets work. Could hang some stuff up for you, help you decorate.” You sighed in a way where he’d get the hint to shut up.
He frowned. “What?”
“You don’t need to help us, we’ve got it figured out, but I was trying to tell you the news this morning because—” Quick high-pitched beeps from a Buick made your point. Eddie swiveled around to peek down the hall at Robin’s car parked out front, headlights beaming through the windows. You enunciated for effect, “Because we’re going furniture shopping and packing every night this week, so I’ve gotta clock out early, before the stores close.”
A heavy dose of disappointment jaded his hand falling limp over your thigh. “So, not only do we not get to see each other during work this week because I’m buried under cars owned by dickheads who should take pride in servicing their own vehicles, but you can’t stay late, either?” he summarized to your apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry,” you began, grazing your knuckle along the powdery soot lining his jaw like stubble. Incited by more honks, you picked up the pace, and fit his face to your palms, thumbing his cheeks; collecting him, lifting his chin, guiding him to your lips.
Two hums converged, harmonizing. His handsome nose mashed against yours in order to steal kiss after kiss as two people should when huddled in a private room away from their boss. Sympathetic to his cause, you resisted the urgency of the ticking clock, and worked your hips into his hold, swaying all the closer, consuming the dearness of his prayer when your fully clothed body stood between his legs, melting his stress away.
“Should get going,” you mumbled, brushing through his hair with each subsequent glide of his desperate tongue making it harder to leave.
Instead of a honk, a car door shut, and you pictured Robin stalking up to the door with her lips rolled in, gesturing animatedly at her watch.
Your muscles posed to take a step away from Eddie, but he climbed his hands to your waist, refusing to let go. “Wait! Wait!”
“What? What?” you mimicked.
“We didn’t get to talk about what happened over the weekend,” he insisted, and you took pity on him, raising your brows with a caveat grin telling him he should make this quick. “I wanted to say that our date was perfect. Like, amazingly perfect. Not just the, ah, obvious part, but watching movies and making dinner together was special to me. As dumb as it sounds, even washing dishes together was special to me.”
The bare circles on his cheeks where your thumbs wiped the dirt away plumped up from his grin.
“And then the way you took care of Adrie,” fondness rushed in, eclipsing the fatigue in his voice, “baby, you’re beyond perfect for that. I couldn’t have asked for anything better. You got her to stop crying when I couldn’t—Yes, I can hear her knocking—and you did everything just so exactly right, and I’m so fucking grateful for you, and, wait! Before you go,” he begged you, laughing into another lip-smack on your forehead. You backed away until he stood up, face still wedged between your palms, coerced into following you into the hallway so your best friend didn’t think you’d gone missing without a trace. “I’ll try not to do the whole crying-my-eyes-out and then spilling-my-guts-to-you thing every time we’re together.. No promises, though.”
Almost to the door, you continued to walk backwards, advancing him until the last second when you had to let go. You teased him, “If it becomes a habit, I’ll put ice cream on the grocery list, and we can sob it out together at my place like real friends do. Sound good?” Umbrella, purse, chapstick—check. “See you tomorrow, handsome,” you said on your way out. Eddie filled the doorframe, casting a sharp eye around the parking lot while returning your adoring goodbye.
He curled his fingers in a guilty wave at Robin.
She, with her keen nose, bent to sniff at you, and commented overly loudly, “Your sweatshirt smells like Camels.”
————
Tuesday was a strong, steady build in pressure.
Privacy could be had in the public space between buildings where cars passed on either side, puttering at their leisurely pace before slowing to a stop when the intersection lights flipped red. You bounded up to Eddie carrying two waxed paper cups filled with morning energy, beaming brighter than the dawning rays glancing off the brick alleyway. “Hey! Got you a little somethin’.” That, along with the rocks crunching under your shoes, was his only warning before you were forcing a drink into his hand, and slipping your other arm inside his unzipped jacket, squeezing his middle.
He rocked on his footing and laughed, collecting your head to his chest with a firm palm behind your neck. Your bodies swayed together, ear pressed to the source of his voice; his choppy cadence drawn tight from the sudden rise in eagerness to tuck his chin and mash kisses atop your hair. “Hey, sweetheart,” he breathed, tinted with a stutter from surprise. “You got me coffee?” Spinning it in his hand, he read the shop’s logo stamped onto the cardboard sleeve and put the lid to his nose, smelling the steam piping through the hole. “Mmm, a latte. You didn’t have to go and get me something special like that.”
“I wanted to since I was too busy to call you last night,” you apologized. “Thought you could use the extra caffeine, too.”
Bathed in the teasing glow of sun, you lifted your cheek from the thick scent of burnt tobacco baked into his coveralls, and swam to the heady surface of smoke enriching the crisp air. Raising your nose higher, though, there wasn’t a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
Fresh mint followed the thin fog escaping his lips in a visible puff of breath.
Eddie kissed you deep. Wrigley’s Spearmint coated the flavor on his tongue as he dragged it over your bottom lip and across your teeth. The recent ad campaign targeting smokers sponsored his confident lick into your mouth. Lazy and casual, relaxing his arm around your shoulders. Hot coffees tucked to his chest. Pocket below his name tag stuffed with the red and white packaging of foil sticks next to his lighter and Camels, finishing up his morning habit with a clean taste now that he gained certain privileges at work.
“Could definitely do with a pick-me-up from my girl,” he mushed en route to your cheek, pulling away to take the first sip of his coffee and ending with a satisfied mmm.
You vied for his approval. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Another sip, another warm ahh fanning your cheeks. His one-track mind instilled bravery in his hand sliding down from your shoulders to the roundness of your ass, groping your hips flush against the metallic clink of the button snaps closing his jumpsuit, bringing you to him.
Regarding you down the length of his nose, he dipped his smoker’s rasp into something rougher, deeper, resonating from the courage in his chest, “Y’know, I used to worry about making things weird at work if I made a move on you and it wasn’t appreciated–”
“Oh?” you interrupted, pointing above you. “Do you.. Do you not see the flashing sign over my head begging you to ask me out?”
“Hush,” he reprimanded you with a wolfish spank over your back pocket. “What I’m saying is that I’m startin’ to see the perks of workin’ together.” He flicked his eyes up to survey the end of the alley, minding the crawl of traffic passing by. Any Hawkins citizen could turn their head and see you two together; fronts touching in the indecent way coworkers shouldn’t. Stomachs brushing in the intimate way acquaintances wouldn’t. Faces nearing, warmth radiating from his full lips holding steady above your silent plea in the eager way friends might not. Hands taking what they want—smooth and strong alike, improper filth—grabbing in the coarse way sweethearts do.
Eddie’s fingers followed the crease at the bottom of your ass cheek, cupping himself a handful, and drawing you into his nicotine and menthol kiss. You wrung a fistful of the back of his coveralls, using him for weak-kneed stability, yanking until fabric strained against the snap clasps, making gaps to where his shirt showed underneath.
Huddled, coffee cups captured in the embrace, your bodies buzzed drunk on indulgence.
In the echoey distance, a shutter door rolled open. “Perks gotta wait, I’m afraid,” you moped, falling short of getting swept into the intoxicating trap throbbing between your thighs when he groaned at the heavy chain rattling, locking one door into place before moving onto the next.
He shook his head, sighing in genuine annoyance at the few minutes you had alone, now over. “Guess we’ll have to sneak around if we want to see each other this week.”
“Yeah?” you drew out, thick and sweet like honey, walking your fingers up his chest. “Need me that badly?” you questioned, mawkish and innocent. “Need me to beat up your bullies, and kiss you better?”
Playful spite painted his grin. “Is that too much to ask for? They’re workin’ me to the bone here, babe. I think I deserve a little pick-me-up after replacing a heater core.”
The second service door creaked and clanked at the top of its slot.
“A little pick-me-up, huh?” you repeated, earning a nose-scrunched amusement at the quick peck you offered him. “Like that?”
“Just like that,” he confirmed, already against your mouth for more.
Just like that—
Even footfalls of heavy boots thudded closer.
Giddy kicks of excitement electrified your nerves. The thrill of sneaking around gripped, bound, and knotted your stomach. Eddie, intending to steal one last treat before his fingers and wrists were fatigued from labor, rocked you forward with his strong palm, but he too was spurred by the endorphin rush, hauling your hips in with too much enthusiasm and causing you to discover more than he’d meant to.
Swiftly separating, backs to scratchy brick, the third shutter door dislodged from the dusty ground and began its clattery ascent. Cool, calm, casual. Racing-hearted coworkers.
Hello, Mr. Moore. Fine day, isn’t it? Dotted cloudy sky with plenty of sun, no rain. Yes, I’ll get started on a pot of coffee in just a minute.
Your boss walked away.
You looked at your boyfriend. Waxy to-go cup poised at his puckered lips, eyes nearly closed to mirthful little crescents and twinkling from your collective shared secrets which grew exponentially. Plunging thoughts, yet you kept your gaze high, deciphering his devilish features instead of analyzing the outline below the waistband of his dark gray coveralls leading to his hand was in his pocket, picturing Eddie’s cock in his fist before noon.
Rock hard only from kissing.
He mocked you lightly—teacher’s pet, people pleaser— “Better get goin’, sweetheart.”
Your features arched to the tune of sarcasm on your tongue, asking him a question he refused to answer with anything but a smirk, “Why? Need some alone time?”
————
Wednesday ripened like boozy fruit.
Thick winter layers were shed for lightweight counterparts; canvas jackets shucked after a cup of coffee, breaking free from the hug of warmth before it riled a worse sweat than the impulses caused.
Just like that—
Treats throughout the day in between vintage cars and pretentious clients. Exploring the perks of a stolen peck in the breakroom after Kevin shuffled out. The favor of a massage along the knotted muscles between his shoulder blades when crouched behind an Impala, where you were changing the trash liners at the workbench, and he was counting lug nuts. Silly benefits like you thanking him in a kiss to your palm, blown from behind your desk after he delivered a stack of invoices, to which he mimed catching it and pressing it to his cheek, walking backwards into the garage in a lazy stride, embracing his dopey grin. “Corny,” he said that time. “Shh, baby,” he said another, when his wandering hand landed in a squeeze on your ass, and your squeal of delight peaked higher than he was comfortable with in the hallway outside your boss’ office, spiking hues of cassis wine across his nose.
Innocent snacks. Quick low-risk indulgences.
That’s how it started, anyway.
“Psst,” you got Eddie’s attention as he strolled past the storage closet on his way to the breakroom for his Chef Boyardee lunch. His elbow jutted a big angle from stretching his tricep, looking like Rosie the Riveter in his royal blue coveralls and red bandana on his head.
When his expression remained exceptionally oblivious upon seeing you peeking out of the narrow room housing dusty metal shelves lined with car parts, you snagged him by his grimey sleeve and dragged him inside. With two people crowding the shoebox shaped space, running into the cardboard boxes of windshield wipers you’d yet to put away was inevitable, as was Eddie ducking around the pull string for the single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. Your eyes itched and your throat scratched, but with everyone's breaks being staggered to ensure there was someone out in the bay and someone available to answer customer’s questions at all times, your loneliness was agonizing, and his sly smile accentuating his dimple knew it.
“Yeah, sweet stuff?” Already, the lure. The bait of his tone. Dry rasp in his overused voice, hoarse from yelling over the grind of a powertools.
The heavy door crept closed behind him, ajar enough to catch shadows. You backed to the furthest wall. He trailed, brushing his stained fingertips on his hips to rid them of excess motor oil before touching his girl.
But, before he could lift your chin in an overdue kiss, you stopped him dead in his tracks. “Thought you could use a pick-me-up,” you said, breathy and thin, too high-pitched and fluttery to be sultry. Butterflies had been building in your belly since you first had this idea at your desk, erupting into swarmy impatience as the timing never worked out and you couldn’t get him alone without one of the guys noticing, or a customer leaning over to ding the bell next to your pen cup, breaking you from your daydream.
Eddie was still a step away, raising his arm from his side, when a beautiful sight swallowed his pupils whole.
A shiver grasped your middle.
Sweat met cool air, erupting goosebumps along your ribs, tightening your nipples to stiff peaks. The hem of your thin sweater stayed gathered at the top of your chest, hands splayed to keep it in place, helping frame the generic black bra. You didn’t enter the day prepared to show off your lamest lingerie, but Eddie’s stare was glued to the plain dull shine of polyester stretched over cups covering the full range of your goods as if they were worthy of the French term usually relegated to something not designed for comfort.
He wiped his hands more energetically on his chest.
No pet names, no clever remarks crafted to make you melt. No swoony lines, no verbal compliments from his handsome mouth hung on a dumbfounded gape. No thoughts, wit, or brainpower. Everything vanished the moment you took his wrist, and smoothed his palm to your breast.
Suave, he was not. Eddie giggled like a teenager—elated, ecstatic to be touching a pair of boobs as if it were his first time. You pitied him in a chastising snort, hopelessly fallen for his big grin, and helped his other hand. Large palm, calluses dragging on the fabric. Cups too thick and opaque to ogle what was beneath. But he was mesmerized all the same. He fitted the stretch of his fingers across that which you arched into his hold, and ran his thumb over the softness. His knuckles and tendons flexed as he did so, moving under the pressure of your heavy suggestion, sliding his hand down so he cradled the bottom and lifted, giving him more area to explore—
Your inhale came sharp and sweet.
Eddie throbbed.
He checked your reaction, repeated the motion. Found the hard bud under the layer, and trapped it between the edge of his thumb, rocking it to the long side of his index finger. Your body leaned into the feeling, eyebrows drawn, bottom lip pushed out and freshly licked. He learned to do it again. Again. More. Harder. Shimmery praise collected in the corners of your eager eyes, heavy lids and batting lashes forced open to watch the confidence in his movements grow. Faster rubs, heavier pets. Kneading what you gave him. Drawing quick, simple breaths from your pretty mouth as he concentrated on circling his thumbpad around the point of pleasure, using his nail to skim over it, dragging a lurch from your core.
“Eddie.” His name tipped into a moan hummed through your nose.
The stuffy room heightened your fluster. Eddie burned. Furnace body, ember hands stoking your fire. Ends of his bangs coming to a damp point above his brows. Dewy skin beneath his diligent strokes over the polyester cups. The squish. The yearn. The need for cold metal shelves to be pressed into your backside, positioning himself against your front.
“Like it when I do that, baby?” he asked, deep and husky for no other reason than to hear your voice pitch when he pinched your nipples, elusive as they were from the slippery fabric.
You pushed your sweater higher, flaunting your arms closer. The amount of gratification coming from his thumbing was small, but the fun of doing it in a closet while on the clock had you oversensitive. Anticipation swelled your fat tongue, slurring your question with girlish flirt, “S’it a good pick-me-up? D’you feel better?” you asked for no other reason than to feel him grow hard against your hip.
Cement walls deadened outside interference, isolating his hammering heart in its loudest beats, and projecting the low sound stuck in the back of his throat. His deep rumble of, “Yeah, feelin’ better,” was spoken in the hollow between your chests, stomachs meeting during your feathery inhales opposite his resolute ones filling the planes of his pecs with renewed strength to get through the day.
Eddie’s exhaustion illustrated itself in the bags under his eyes; intense wells of purple beneath deep wrinkles you couldn’t begin to solve for him. However, you could stretch up, brush your lips over his, and make the eager noises which fed his ego.
“Makin’ you feel good?” he asked, grounding his pleasure in what he could do for you.
“So good, handsome.”
“Love it when you call me handsome.”
“Yeah?”
He collapsed into you, “Yeah.”
Sly now, your grin broke the kiss. “You still remember how to unhook a bra, handsome? Or has it been too long?” No surprise—he nipped at the bottom lip he adored so much, shutting you up.
His big, tired body lost its strength from cranking tools all morning, but he still managed to impress you with his firm determination laying against your belly, pulsing eager. He circumvented your taunt with fingertips diving to the bottom of the cups and pushing up, drawing tension on the underwire, tightening the band around your ribs. It teetered on the edge of a great reveal, nipples harder than him between your legs. You begged for the release, for your bra to finally crest the whole, and bounce what you had into his waiting palms, where his thumb and index were shaped to tweak another hot moan into his mouth—full lips mashed gently to your desperate whine—unapologetic confidence staring you down. Doing it all with a smile.
The door opened with Carl’s question, “You get those u-joints for me?”
Violent strikes of shame-induced panic shocked you both into action before thinking.
Thank God you still had a hold on your sweater to yank it down in sync with Eddie’s side-step, the dumbass, exposing you because his priorities laid in fleeing. Well, at least he was a redeemable dumbass who used his quick wit Dungeon Master skills to remain with his back turned towards the door, perusing the top shelf for a box of universal joints.
You acted your part. “Oh! Uh, I couldn’t reach them, so I got Eddie to help,” you overexplained, pointing at your taller platonic friend who definitely wasn’t the reason your clothes bunched weirdly over your chest.
“Hm?” Carl looked up from his invoices, just noticing Eddie. “Could’ya get me some washers too?”
“Yep,” you answered for him, hearing the box slide along with the rattle of the steel washers, taking them and handing them off to Carl who grunted out a thank you, double checking his paperwork as he walked away, none the wiser as to why your gaze was sealed on the floor.
Mouth dried of all fluid, yet body drenched in the same embarrassment which reddened your coworker’s face darker than his bandana, you gulped past your heart lodged in your throat, and idled next to Eddie, pretending to tidy up a container of gloves. Really, you straightened out your bra instead, door wide open behind you.
It wasn’t against the rules to date your colleague, but he was uncomfortable with other people knowing about your relationship. Perhaps it was the prying, the questions, the pressure which bothered him most. Or the loss of privacy. All eyes on the single dad who hadn’t been in a serious relationship since a brief stint out of high school, and finding someone now, for him, The Freak of Hawkins, was such a significant event they’d probably congratulate him, therefore crushing the dignity he worked hard to assemble from the crumbs he was left with.
He had more to care about. More to lose. Always, you followed your boyfriend’s lead when it came to his reputation.
“So..”
“S-So,” he answered. “Uhm..”
“Should we.. Do you want to keep doing this?” you hesitated, trying to figure him out. Eddie knew what you were asking, though. It strained against the last set of buttons to his coveralls. The edge with no relief. Sneaking around, copping feels in dusty closets, stealing kisses behind walls, never having enough time to start, nor end something worthwhile to ease the aches left behind. “Maybe we should relax at work until we have a real weekend to ourselves again?”
“Fuck no.” His blunt response raised your eyebrows. “C’mon, babe,” he scoffed, locking onto you with his sloppy puppy grin and playful nudge on your arm. “This work week already fucking sucks, and you’re the only good I get.”
Checking over his shoulder, he sidled closer to you, and lowered his voice, “Yesterday I got to kiss you, and then go home to my kid who ate her chicken and broccoli without a single complaint.” He cut his hands to his chest, palms up, bouncing them in a shrug. “I don’t see any downsides here.” Aside from the prominent downside in your periphery, you agreed. “We’re just havin’ fun, right? Our weekend’s gonna come. These, uh, close encounters of the romantic kind are just to hold us over until then, that’s all.”
Just having fun. Just like that. Perks, pick-me-ups. No downsides here.
After giving him a long look, you nodded. These were just treats to get you both through the tough week. You could resist the temptation of taking it too far, keeping it casual. He could dial it back, and remain level headed about kissing, and a little over the clothes touching. No big deal.
Casual. Dialed back.
Easy.
————
Thursday was hot under the collar.
Coffee sputtered fat drops into the glass carafe, adding steam to the small breakroom, and filling it with the wake-up scent. Sat in a creaky plastic chair was a man sapped of energy, and behind him was his dearest flame. On the clock, technically, but arriving before other employees dared.
“Had to stay late last night to finish a car on time,” he grumbled to you, neck muscles flexing under your fingertips as he lolled his head side to side. “Wish you didn’t have to leave so early.”
You pulled his hair off his shoulders, and stroked your thumbs from his nape to the underside of his jaw in long sweeps over the tense slope, down, massaging the base where his collar began. “I know, baby,” you gentled, “me too, but we found a couch last night, and made sure it was the perfect size and comfort level for cuddling during a movie marathon.” His groan scratched vibrations along the rub, tugging your heartstrings.
“That sounds so good right now.”
Nothing made Eddie feel further away than the graywash walls surrounding you; lights too bright, vending machines droning too loud, stale odor of motor oil stinking too harshly of motor oil. Too everything—grating. His solid shoulders bowed weak from unyielding tasks. Body tired, brain stuck in problem-solving mode, watching cranky customers like a hawk, never getting a break once he got home; making food, washing dishes, cleaning spills, changing laundry, vacuuming dirt, providing entertainment, being the source of a thousand answers, drying tears, saying he’s sorry he can’t find the missing Barbie brush, worrying about everything, forgetting nothing, trying his best, falling short, perceiving himself as inadequate, disregarding himself as worthy of nothing more. Never getting the validation he craved after a long day. Poor man.
You leaned down and loosened the only button on his pinstripe coveralls, below his throat. Slipped the sky blue plastic from its cotton vice, threaded it through the hole in a languid beat, and kept things slow. You crawled your fingers to the sturdy metal zipper—dull gold—and ground the teeth three stretches down his chest, parting the halves to expose his black tee underneath. Your nails scratched the union of his pecs on the way to pull the collar off his neck, earning a comforting sound of approval from him, inspiring your own hum tickling your lips.
Switching from your thumbs to your knuckles, you dipped under his coveralls, and prodded the chain of stiffness on either side of his spine. Cheap poly-cotton grazed your skin. Mmm—His breath hitched, cheeks puffing at the sore knot you encountered, exhaling hard through the pain of your digging. It was so reminiscent of your second date when you were straddling him on his shit replacement for a bed not fit for a grown man, it hurt. You worshiped him between the bones—a small relief you wished to give him, delaying the restless ache growing more visceral every day you didn’t get to hold him for hours. Eddie reciprocated the yearn. He rested his head on your belly, washed curls swaying from his crown, frizzy strands clinging to the static on your blouse; leaning backwards so the meat between his neck and shoulder rolled under your handiwork. Closed eyes, fanning lashes. Mellow sounds of contentment sung through his nose. Beautiful man.
“Feeling better?” you asked, squeezing his traps in hard pinches, collecting his woes and turning them into sighs.
Mhmm, he said.
Perfect, you thought.
Better meant there’s still room for improvement.
In a fluid motion, you bent at the hips, and he leaned his head to the side, accommodating your arms draping around his front. The angle pressed your ass to the wall in an audible glide of your skirt shifting against it. Eddie, so soft and romantic, hiked his shoulders up and beamed hard at the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut thinking his sweetheart was hugging him. However, you slipped your hands under his uniform, and his sunshine grin faltered.
His pulse quickened at your descent.
“Whatcha doin’, baby?” he asked, tone floating the river of curiosity and suspicion.
You doled kisses where his bangs parted, down to his temple, his eyebrow, sunk in the hollow of his cheek between the hardness of his teeth. You traveled the smooth grain on his jaw—warm notes of nutmeg, cinnamon, and vanilla in your lungs—and wandered over his earlobe, nosing through his long hair to the place you wanted. Lips on sensitive skin. Dangerous.
His throat bobbed at the top of a heartbeat, and his chest sank only to fill with a strong breath. The thin fabric of his tee stretched over the firm muscle laying dormant under a sleek layer of fat. Wheat shafts of hair mid valley brushed against the motion of your hands opening his coveralls further, fingerpads skimming his pebbled nipples; golden zipper sneaking to the top of his stomach, enough room for you to flatten your palms to his pecs, and unwind him. Like a good partner, you massaged the width where you laid your head to rest during a long hug, where you set your ear to listen to the rhythmic thump, where the source of his voice ignited when you asked him a question; thumbs joining to stroke the worthy center.
His black tee framed by the baby blue stripes paved a dark arrow to the kick of his hips tilting upwards as he slouched in the chair.
Excessive flattery laced your tease, “Are you hard?”
“‘Course I’m hard,” he pointed out the obvious. “You’re touching me.”
Not that the swollen length rising from his lap could be anything else, but knowing you caused such a standing ovation after a little bit of back rubbing ran you a mighty temperature.
Wicked thoughts pooled at the bottom of your stomach. The stiff outline influenced your thighs rubbing together, rallying hunger in your eyes. You angled your head, and shifted your focus to the goosebumps surfacing from your sigh fanning the shell of his ear.
Eddie’s neck invigorated your appetite.
You opened your mouth wide and grazed the sharp edge of your teeth over the vulnerable column thrumming with life. His body went rigid—”Oh”—then slack in increments. Again, you scraped lightly over the slope of warmed muscle appreciated by you as a result of the physical price he paid to assume the jobs of many, taking on the responsibility of Carl’s workload to ensure he made it to his son’s wrestling practice on time. Your man deserved the world; he deserved your lips forming a ring over his pulse, he deserved his heartbeat darting against your tongue, he deserved to melt under your attention. Your man deserved to have his little groan stolen when he remembered your mouth’s talent.
Despite the animal way you started, you eased him into the pressure, sucking down on his skin until your open bite filled with delicate flesh. A liquid glottal click preceded the faintest catch in his vocal chords. He secured a palm around your shoulder, heaviness drawing your arm forward, enticing your hand to rove down his chest. Shirt wrinkles collected around your fingertips as you reached the roundness of his stomach, and dipped below his coveralls. The change in environment was instant. Humid, sticky pheromones clung to your skin. Damp body heat trapped tacky warmth to your middle finger dipped to his navel while your knuckles prowled beneath his jumpsuit in visible arches. Edging closer, closer. Nearly there.
You arched your wrist to put strain on the zipper, dragging it with you, almost within reach of what he earned.
Eddie’s hand covered your own. “We shouldn’t, ah,” he cleared his throat, “shouldn’t start something we can’t finish,” he asserted, caught between the confliction crossing his face, and the gravelly tug in his vocal chords. He hooked his forefinger under your pinky and lifted your hand to the outside of his coveralls, where the halves parted below his sternum. “With our luck, someone’ll walk in on us.”
Yesterday’s incident in the closet brought fresh memories to his reddened ears; blotching renewed embarrassment along the pinkish skin where your spit dried. You took this into consideration when opposing, “Doubt anyone would walk in on us in the next thirty seconds.”
He’d deflect your implication with a glare if his eyes weren’t closed in disgust at his own actions.
“Just saying,” you sang, words becoming muffled on the stretch of neck he presented to you with a cant of his head, “we could have fun before anyone shows up.”
Teetering an inappropriate boundary neither of you should indulge, especially not in the storage closet or on your sturdy wood desk, his willpower faltered. “Don't tempt me with that shit when you know it’s a bad idea,” he griped without the balls to make it sound sincere.
You raked your fingers into a fist where they laid, pulling his uniform taut. The coveralls went tight over his lap, stressing deep shadows leading to the concentrated swell down his pants leg; made more obvious when he spread his knees wider, scraping his boots across the floor. Jittery nerves, flexed thighs, torn between crossing a line. Treats, perks, pick-me-ups. Hugging, kissing, touching over your bra. It was a dangerous path to tread. Risky. A million reasons why you shouldn’t.
“Want me to stop?”
“No.” Punctual, quick. Answered hoarsely in the breakroom of your workplace. “Keep going.”
His sentence rumbled in your mouth. Permission vibrated past your teeth, words rolled over your tongue, coating your brain in syrupy sweetness. Keep going. Texture of his stubble, then texture of his skin. Nearly invisible bumps matching the taste buds you licked down the sculpt of his throat, following the moody blue vein to where it disappeared under the ribbed collar of his shirt. You nudged the barrier away, and dropped wet kisses on the hilled muscle. His head fell further into the crook of your arm, offering, making the spot more accessible for you to lap at, cherish. The position was perfect. No better vantage point to stare down your boyfriend’s shuddering chest while you sucked a bruise on his neck, and wrung his coveralls a little tighter.
The shadows defining his lap twitched.
Eddie imposed his fingers between yours, and adjusted his grip several times until the sturdy cotton twill restricted his length flat. Without looking, you knew his nostrils flared when he released a rough exhale afterwards. Being so close, you heard the bubbles in his saliva pop before his mouth constricted on the swallow. You listened to the spit travel, saw his throat bob. Felt the hitch in his whine before he ever sank to the edge of the chair, where his hips would lurch and his clothes would drag along the oversensitive temptation begging for more in a hard throb. A short, delicate, and devastating morsel of what his mouth drooled for.
“Am I making you feel better?”
Through the trance of the powerful initiative rushing his blood south, compounded by the many rules and boundaries he broke of his own accord since he met you, paired with the sultry aid of your husky voice, he nodded. His muscle swayed beneath your teeth. “So much better, baby.”
“Love to hear it, handsome,” you kissed his cheek.
Dots of bright candy apple red bloomed amongst the pink where you marked the destination in the passage from his ear to his ball chain necklace. The metal beads were warm on your loving peck to his keepsake. Returning to the raw span beside it, you nursed the bruise along, sealing your kiss-plumped lips to the afflicted area, and bringing forth stipples of violet. Eddie disciplined his moan in the quiet room; coffee pot full, and vending machines clicking to lower hums; yet his weak noise wrapped you in tangled bedsheets, and unset alarms. Strong arms, and a slow cadence between your legs. Fantasies which were lost in the anguish of professionalism, and busy schedules.
Then, he called you back to reality with another sound. Whinier. Hemmed in his shaky breath, and a fluttered ‘oh’.
You broke the heavy-lidded spell over your eyes and fixed your gaze on the reason his grip on your shoulder cinched.
Eddie rocked his hips, and the outline of his cock strained against his coveralls. The entire definition of his head stretched the fabric as hard as it could at the top of the thrust, and fell to his thigh on the descent. Lines amassed on his forehead as he worked the circle again, starting on a pace which favored his next moan. Low, and slow—finding a steady rhythm, and simmering. Like that, accepting the urge and giving in, fuck the consequences. The spontaneity of you suggesting you give him some relief before the work day began spurred him, and whatever reservations he had about not fooling around while on the clock crumbled. Not that his convictions were ever strong to begin with when it came to you.
Approaching something more desperate with each controlled motion scoring the friction he couldn’t resist, another moan—thick, and hot like warmed maplewood sap—rumbled from his braced chest.
With his eyebrows pinched, and mouth slack, he watched himself get off on nothing but his own determination.
Spit flooded your bottom lip. Your palm needed to be filled. You ached for his smooth skin moving up and down while you fisted his shaft. You strangled his clothes at the thought, and yes, you begged, “Can I?” to which he dropped his head back and groaned a soft ‘fuck’.
“Whatever you want, baby,” he released in a jumble of grateful syllables.
Hanging onto his composure, he reached for the zipper, and the action stirred a phantom taste of his salty release on your tongue. Your body fought tooth and nail to have patience. You distracted yourself by placing fervent kisses in his hair as thanks for the wonderful start to the morning, about to pump Eddie’s cock to the same tempo as your racing heart without an ounce of restraint, when you froze.
A near-mute whoosh of air alerted every nerve in your body.
There was no mistaking the gust of the glass door rushing open, its whispered squeak imperceivable to anyone who didn’t spend an inordinate amount of time sitting beside it. But Eddie heard it. Or, he heard the thudding steps leading the jumpstart in his heart.
He freaked.
In a flurry, Eddie kicked up his hips to zip his jumpsuit to his throat, and you spun around to dig through the fridge while metal chair legs screeched across the tile, scooting in until his upper half was soldered to the rim of the table, and you picked out his favorite creamer.
Hot coffee beat out the smell of Old Spice. The fridge’s condenser fan knocked sense into the lapse of judgment. A booming voice penetrated the ringing pitch of bad decisions rushing loud in your ears.
“Mornin’!” Mr. Moore waited for your response of ‘Good morning’ to drive his Thursday mood, “Y’watch the news last night?” he asked, holding the conversation just inside the breakroom door. “Weather lady said the storm over Springfield is just sittin’ there—y’know, just hangin' over the city churnin' out rain like you wouldn't believe! It’s a strange one; the whole system is avoiding us, but it's what's brought on this heat wave. And just a few days ago we were seein’ our breath! The thunderstorm from the weekend dented my new chicken pen with hail, and now I’m turnin’ on the A/C, but that’s Hawkins for ya.” Sucking his teeth, he muttered to himself, “Cursed town.”
At that, you collected Eddie’s mug from the cabinet, and clinked a spoonful of sugar and Coffee Mate in his mug, stirring through the swirl of piping hot beige.
Mr. Moore continued, “Anyway, we should prob’ly dust off that drum fan, ‘nd set it up before the sun turns the garage into an oven.. You okay, Ed?”
You wiped the steam from your fingers onto your skirt, demonstrating an extraordinary amount of strength in resisting looking at him.
“Yeah, I—yeah, I think those fumes from yesterday got to me.”
“Ah, gotcha,” Mr. Moore replied, familiar with the debilitating headaches mechanics frequently succumbed to. “Take it easy today, will ya? And, uh, could you help me with the fax machine?” You perked up at the change in tone, understanding the question was intended for you. “If you got a minute, I need to send out some of these papers.”
Tapping the spoon, rinsing it, putting it aside, you said, “Sure can,” and your boss took that as his cue to walk into his office. Door open.
You set the perfect cup of coffee on the table, and stalled. Eddie’s fingers trembled over his forehead, laced into a shield and only lowered to the bridge of his nose in order to pierce you with all the glare he could muster; bouncing his knee in such a frenzy it quivered the curl of his bangs over his plum face, and shook the thinness of his scorched cheeks.
“Told you this was a bad idea,” he enunciated, wholly vindicated.
Your lips wore a tingle through their numbness as they thinned into a regretful grin. “I’m sorry.” You passed a kiss over top his head where your hand stroked. When the coal of his eyes continued to scold you through his thick lashes, you gave him another kiss, and spoke in softer earnest, “I really am, Eddie. I didn’t mean to, you know.. yeah.” Balls so deeply blue, they matched his jumpsuit. “Thought we had enough time to finish.”
He grunted.
Under the pressure of both time and guilt, you spun your hands into finger guns at the door, and shuffled backwards from him awkwardly, eyes set on the scuff marks on the floor. “I’ll just—” You were already steps away, about to exit.
“—guess I’ll jack off again.”
“What was that?”
Eddie jerked his head up, eyebrows lifting, realization crossing his glazed over stare. The sentence was meant as a vent of frustration, but not where you could hear it. He couldn’t get redder; in fact, he paled around his mouth a little, licking his lips. “I–uh.” He blinked irregularly through his stutter, finding the words which evaded him, scraping his brain for an explanation while he wrung and crossed his arms in a loose hug over his shoulders, fidgeting. “It, well, it h-hurts if I don’t..”
Corroding into an eye-roll only hidden by the very act of closing your eyes, you informed him, “Yes, I am well aware of the biological phenomenon. You said ‘again’, though. Meaning?”
After a moment of deciding how much information he was willing to divulge, he shrugged into his shoulders, dipping his chin to one side, using his hair to shy behind. “I’ve.. had to jack off before,” he answered, being coy with the topic.
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“At work?”
“In the bathroom, yeah.”
“How come?”
His intentional avoidance drew your smile, so mischievous and calling his bluff, cornering the affection in his expression until his sneaky glance from beneath his bangs wove more and more of a story into his sheepishness. “Sometimes you wear stuff I like.”
You pounced. “Oh, yeah?” Interposing yourself between two chairs across from Eddie—ignoring the sound of Mr. Moore’s fist beating on the plastic machine in the other room—you drew circles on the tabletop, and pried, “What kind of stuff? When? Do you mean this week, or, like, before we were even friends?”
“I am not telling you that,” he laughed, he choked, he denied—hard—basically confirming he did wrap his hand around his cock at the thought of you, perhaps at work, perhaps yesterday after the closet incident, perhaps at the start of your employment at David’s Auto Repair when he didn’t know how to process the new receptionist flirting with him and his way of shutting down any feelings before they began was by ridding himself of the urge.
The topic itself was eliminated by his arm swinging outward, conversation not up for discussion.
And you, enjoying the attention that made him fold his hands over his lap, laid your upper half across the table, propping your elbows so there was a gap down your blouse if he so chose to ocularly venture.
Your words mushed from your fists beneath your chin, “Is it the skirts?” You rocked side to side. His crows feet deepened, shoulders shaking from suppressed giggles, refusing the allurement of your shapely sway draped in corporate gray. “Or is it the jeans and hoodie that does it for ya? Really getcha goin’ when I’m dressed down? Hmm?” Your eyebrow waggle dueled with his sealed lips.
“‘M’not tellin’,” he defended, hardly able to speak through his fondness for flattering you; as if praising you were its own reward, reflected upon him as a good man worthy of having his dirty boots tucked beside your front door.
From the hallway, a rackety sound strung together with a cuss and muffled call of your name roused the logical side of your brain, awakening you both from the hormonal haze.
Eddie clicked his tongue. “Best get to work, sweetheart.”
“Why? Need some alone time?”
The weight of the ache between his legs burdened his lack of comeback.
Obliging, because he was right, you stretched across the table and waited for him to meet you halfway. But he didn’t attempt to close the distance. He stayed put, committed to his stubbornness, and forced you to stain the muscles down the backs of your legs in order to reach. Fine, you played into his game. You planted your smirk on his mouth, dousing his smug features with your own.
“I was just thinking,” you lead innocently, “I’ve already packed my closet, but I might find the time to go through the boxes tonight, and pick out my outfit for tomorrow.”
“Babe—” It was an instant beg. Your favorite kind. “Don't you dare,” and he couldn’t even erase the intrigue, the thrill, the excitement of stolen youth in his tone. The sneaking around, the perks, the treats—the boundary you both knew you shouldn't cross, because of worse decorum than him sitting stiffly at a table, ripe with embarrassment. “You can’t do that. Are you even—? Baby?”
“By—e,” you sang on your way out.
————
Friday came with an excessive heat warning.
Footsteps came from behind you, lingering at the door. An arduous breath was spent sighing, but his voice was too playful to shame you, hardly traipsing through his throat to chastise, “You’re something else, you know that?”
Every beat of your heart was emphasized by his step forward, dragging his boots until his body heat warmed your backside. Blissfully unaware, you continued washing the glass carafe in the breakroom sink. Staying diligent in your task wasn’t an admission of guilt; rather, diverting your attention was an act of grace, of benevolence, granting him access to feast on your figure. It was obvious from the moment you arrived his hunger grew insatiable. You walked into the garage exactly as late as you planned, arms loaded with two boxes of freshly fried donuts, and the shine in his sharp-set eyes did not match those of his coworkers springing from their circle around the workbench. No, the to-go orders of dark roast coffees did not feed a smile to his face as it did for Kevin, nor did the waft of sugary glaze excite his mouth into watering like it did for the other men.
Eddie’s cravings were of a different breed.
His expression was hard, then. If you’d just met, you’d think your merry presence pissed him off. Now knowing better, you read the initial shock before he schooled it to an intense stare, steely gaze locking you into a match. You provoked him with a golden sunshine grin. His jaw went slack enough to run his tongue along his inner cheek, calming his rise in blood pressure, nose perking pink and eyes flashing dark and lips twitching to one side.
You excused yourself—“I should clean the coffee maker before I leave those grounds in there all weekend,”—and went to the breakroom. Eddie was hot on your trail. He came in not half a minute later. Probably didn’t even make up an excuse, he just left the circle.
“This is too far, even for you,” he maintained, aching and slow, words brushing over your ear.
Anticipation mounted in the sound of his clothing shifting, leather boots creaking. You expected him to do something sweet—run his knuckle down the small of your back, or thumb at the strap along your shoulder—but instead, you gasped.
Water sloshed in the coffee pot, suds squishing from the squeeze you put on the sponge.
He dived under the hem of your dress. The fabric fit tight on your body, snug to your waist, closing your thighs in a hug. He tugged it over the curve of your ass, exposing your bare cheeks to the chilly room. Bold. Risky. Dirty. Nowhere near the platonic workplace relationship he was trying to front. You twisted to look up at him with wide, thrilled eyes, giddy with the boost of flattery knowing your simple clothing choice drove him wild.
Eddie got a sturdy grip on the counter edge, and eased his weight onto you until you were covered by his magnificence, chest to back. He shaped his palm to your hip, and dug his thumb above the elastic band of your underwear, connecting the need of his hand to the yearn of his mouth. You melted in the pocket of his embrace, greeting him with parted lips, accepting his tongue. Never would you tire of his breath overtaking yours. Spit, spearmint gum, oddly metallic. Smoke break. You break. Morning tangle of you and him when the others were enjoying donuts one glass door away.
Fearless fingertips discovered you without hesitation. Polished callouses swept over and around to the front of your thigh, greeting the warm juncture with a smooth trace of his buffed skin, middle finger following the edge of your cotton panties down the seam, and up. Only an inch or so into the crease where your leg met the thong, back and forth twice along the line, enough to skim your nerves awake, and work you into a sweat for his index hovering over the swell where a single graze would have your knees weak. Taking the touch away, he wrapped his arm around your middle, and drew your hips in.
He pressed fat and heavy along your backside, unashamed.
The kiss ended in a juicy smack, finished by your hum against the coarse grain peppering his jaw. Lips were licked, sparkling eyes gazed into their match. Coming down with a lovesickness, your skin fostered a high fever, woozy bliss clouding your head—dreamy dreamy dreamy.
“You know what this dress does to me, don’t you?”
A grin cracked your face. “I might.” You immersed yourself in the comfort of his firm body draped around you, the raw sensation of your bare skin against his rugged coveralls, and lazed in the same memory as him.
The burgundy pinafore clung to the warmth of his taken smile from that night. So smitten, and fond. A dress made of belly clenching laughter, woven together with threads of brave glances, converging and averting when the strikes of nerves teemed on admitting too much. Cinnamon, nutmeg, grape jelly in the slow cooker meatballs. Freshly shed pine needles, and glitter. Significance baked into every fiber of the dress you wore under a lonely sprig of mistletoe, unkissed.
Never again would he let you go home believing you weren’t a treasure.
“Can’t be wearin’ this around me,” he obsessed, and you giggled at the rich confidence in his voice—a prelude to the depth he was willing to go. “Gonna get me in trouble.”
Using the sink ledge as leverage, you muscled Eddie into standing up straight with you, winning his heart with a doe-some blink. Arching, you swayed your hips on the length catching between your round cheeks, though the position flaunted something else which might entice him in engaging in risky behavior. “I’m not wearing a bra, either,” you said. Your voice was girlish—floaty and high—a bit raspy from your neck being turned to admire the handsome amount of approval twinkling in his dark eyes.
“Yeah?” Eddie moved his Stupid Cupid lips over the very edge of your ear, and rumbled through the words weighing down his chest, “Need me to fuck you that bad, huh?”
Thrums of pleasure lit within you.
You nodded the side of your face against the scratch of his chin—a morning, day, evening, night, dusk, dawn without a shave.
“Need me here?” he asked, slipping his fingers inside your dress. The fabric over your chest struggled to accommodate his circle around your nipple. You sucked in a breath—released in a moan—and grabbed onto his arm for stability, already falling backwards into him. The direct blessing of his prod to the bud was too much. Your toes curled at his pinch. He flicked the tip of his smooth finger pad over it faster. “Yeah? You like that?” You whined a croaky sound, resting your head on his chest, unable to keep your eyes open to admire the way he watched himself do this to you, chin hooked over your shoulder to view his own hand groping his girl beneath his favorite dress.
“Need me somewhere else?” he asked, and your hips began to mimic the circle he stroked as an answer.
With the ease of a man who’d pictured this scenario more times than respectful, Eddie seized the permission. Middle, index; his two thickest, longest, dexterous. Divine, and unholy. At the bottom of your dress bunched over the top of your thighs, he crooked those two fingers under the hem intentionally, while your hand combed through his hair at the suggestion. “Yeah? Want me to touch you there?” There—a base he’d yet to run even when you were alone on your second date. “Need me that bad while we’re at work?”
You verbalized your desire, as weak as it skirted past your sigh, “Please, Eddie.”
One plea, and it was Love Potion No. 9. His lean frame blanketed you, cradled you, collected you to his height, corded muscles gone solid with restraint. Large nose pressed to your ear, including you in the deep draw of validation into his lungs. Hugging you to the pride inflating his firm chest. The full throaty rasp of desire, and being desired, intimate and close. Two fingers ventured under your dress. You twirled his hair, teething your bottom lip in anticipation for the touch. They were shaped to claim his prize locked behind a fine layer, but he teased you first. He curved the breadth of his palm to the stretch of cotton, width of his calloused reach forcing your feet apart, and brushed past your deepest craving to cherish the place he craved.
“Jesus,” he wept.
His fingers glided along the wet patch on your thong, fabric sticking to your wet heat. It slid along you in a sticky lick, and he sank his teeth to the base of your neck, beyond help. A noise tripped in your throat at his simultaneous pinch on your nipple. He was a goner.
In a few circles around your entrance, he had you melting into his arms. A tweak on your nipple gained your fingers at the root of his hair. He squeezed your slick lips together, and your neglected need sang at the stimulation, begging him in a gasp to do it again. He did. He did, he did, again, however many times it took to have your sighs dive into moans.
Two devilish fingers began their journey upwards, intentions set and clear. Smarmy with ego, he goaded, “Let’s see how long it takes you to cu—”
The near-mute whoosh of the glass door was made obvious by the chorus of men’s laughter bouncing in.
Cold fear licked up your spine. You scrambled for the abandoned coffee pot in spectacular fashion, struggling to get hold of its soapy body in the fret of stress induced tunnel vision—but Eddie? Eddie took his time hitching your dress hem where it should be, flattening it to your thighs. The telltale gait of your boss was nearing, and he was in no rush to jolt to the opposite end of the planet away from you. Oh, no. Your boyfriend brushed his hands in methodical sweeps over the fabric, smoothing it to your hips, mirroring the same cadence as the steps which sent you into a panic. He even gave you a hard pat after he was done. Kissed your cheek to seal the deal, only stepping away to peruse the vending machines the moment Mr. Moore rounded the corner.
“Can’t resist havin’ a little sugar in my coffee,” he informed from the hallway, chipper as can be, strutting in while you were rearranging your dumbstruck stare into something pleasant. He swiped three Splenda packets. “We’re ‘boutta start the meeting, by the way.” You nodded at the coffee pot you washed to a shine. Mhm! you replied after an anxious attempt for anything better, tight-lipped, and dodging his prying eyes by enacting a coughing fit into your elbow in the other direction, willing to bolt if he even so much as thought about voicing his concern over your strange behavior.
Ka-shink, ka-shink, ka-shink. Eddie fed quarters into the Pepsi machine. “Be right there,” he announced, jamming one of the rectangular buttons on the side.
Mr. Moore paused for the longest .02 seconds of your life. No amount of money could bait you into turning around. Whatever expression he was making—if he knew what you and Eddie were doing—that was between him and God. Your shoulders were squared, muscles ready to flee in panic, heart racing beyond what it should be capable of. All the while Eddie crouched for his drink clunking to the bottom slot.
“Well,” was your boss’ succinct response on his way out, underscoring the end of his thought.
There should’ve been some relief, but your breath stayed in your lungs, and your hands shook horrendously, smacking the handle for the faucet too hard on accident, shooting the stream out on high. And, of course, the closed coffee pot lid was the perfect shield, sending water everywhere.
You screwed your eyes shut and defended yourself from the onslaught, worrying about your face and dress first, and your wimpy shriek second.
Eddie came to your rescue.
Ever the hero, ever the gentleman, he shut off the water for you. A ‘thank you’ had been earned, but one peek between your lashes had you quirking your brow in question. He was too close. Standing univinted beside you, almost touching, invading your personal space in a show of ownership. Shadows attempted to temper his smirk, but they cut harshly around the devious apples of his flushed cheeks. You opened your mouth to ask why he was looking at you like that, when—
The explanation came in your stolen yelp.
“Ed!”
“Shh,” he taunted, taking charge of his bubbling laughter at your reaction.
Goosebumps erupted down your legs, pebbling harder where he rolled the freshly dispensed can of Mug root beer across the back of your thighs. The chill bit into you, and you bit into your bottom lip. Squirmy noises squeaked from your throat. He reached under your dress and held the soda to your ass cheek, replacing the warmth of his cock with a bitter lesson. A stinging—fucking—cold lesson. He pinned your options between him, his arm, and the countertop. There was no escaping his revenge. You saw no other choice but to cling to his coveralls, let the shiver run its course, and scold him in a failed whisper, “Eddie—!” He loved it. Enjoyed every crinkle of your pathetic glare when you realized why he was doing it.
His length was softening against you. An old technique, rubbing vigorously at his sensitive head until the evidence of his arousal went away without repercussions. And now you were the one all worked up with no release.
Grinning like a menace, his cockiness eclipsed your vision, putting his forehead to yours so his snarky giggle vibrated in your skull. He wrangled you into his embrace, manipulating you with ease. Layers of implied strength snapped your hips forward. Years of unassuming muscle beneath his humble clothes locked you to his body without trouble. Strong arms you recognized the power of when they snatched a man by his tie, seasoned hands equipped for ripping out rusted axle shafts, fingers which threaded elastic string through plastic beads with the same finesse as soldering spliced wires together. They all joined in consecutive evil to slide the can between your round cheeks, down to where your yearning sprung.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” You picked up his vocabulary at some point. “I swear, Eddie Munson, if you don’t move that right now.”
“I’m just coolin’ ya off, sweetheart.” He sounded so pleased with himself, the jerk. He also sensed the impending handprint on his cheek, and apologized with a bit of earnest effort, “Sorry.”
Not betraying his newly actualized cavalier attitude towards urgency, he utilized his afternoon drink against your needy core as a way to hike you onto your tiptoes, and bless you with an offensive smirk kissed onto your slanted grimace.
Pussy numbed, he took his root beer away, and moved past you.
“Did you plan this?” you asked, assumed, accused. Mellow in anger, harsh in disbelief. “Is this payback for yesterday?” And the day before that. And the day before that. And maybe the day before that, too.
“Well, yes and no,” he resolved, sorting his explanation while opening the fridge. You crossed your arms, and stuck your hip out. The sensation between your legs was dull and cold. “With our luck, I knew we’d get interrupted before we could finish—and I did intend to give you a taste of your own medicine—but, yeah, uh, then you showed up in that dress, and all my plans went out the window,” his voice tumbled silly with self-deprecation, gestures as big as his eyes. “I was planning on just coming in here, and letting you know how hot you were. Make out with you some, maybe get a lil’ handsy, y’know, make you feel good like you make me feel good. But, uh.. Yeah. Didn’t mean to get carried away like I did.” He prized you in another look over. A damning amount of awe sat in his simper, like he was experiencing his crush flirting with him for the first time all over again. That is, before he hung his head back, and opened his throat to release a hoarse groan at the ceiling.
Eddie held the cold can to his lap, rolling it over the swell, taming the last of his biological drive from showing. “Trust me, baby, I’m chewing through my leash to get to you.”
Too charming. A flustering rush of flattery washed over you—warm, fuzzy, prickly heat of the back of your neck. Your annoyance at him was never genuine, but it certainly wasn’t after watching him speckle his jumpsuit with condensation in effort to resist breaking a code of conduct. Though, you were still strategizing how long it would take with your deft fingers down your underwear in order to rid your own need, and sit at your desk without chewing through the particle board, too.
Reading your mind, he put the soda away, and approached you with two palms on your nape, frigid fingers laced behind your neck and cold thumbs stroking your jaw. He dropped his head to the side, and maintained unblinking eye contact through his slow disapproving shake, resentment festering in his desperate gaze. “If I don’t get a few minutes alone with you today, I’m gonna go insane,” he stated. You believed him. “I’m serious, you better scrape together a few minutes to come kiss me on my smoke break, or else.”
There was no elaboration on what ‘or else’ meant.
“I will,” you promised, weak to his kiss on your forehead.
Figuring you’d both been stalling long enough, he trailed his last goodbyes for the foreseeable future on the line of your cheek bone, your chin, bridge of your nose, corner of your lips. Wherever. He swept his hand into your own, and brought it to his mouth, hiding the beginnings of his smirk in the smooches to your knuckles. “Was the soda thing too much?”
Grinding dullness to his sharp intrigue, you rolled your eyes. “It was kind of hot, I guess,” you forced out in a monotone droll, feigning harder exasperation when his expression squinched too mirthful.
“Don’t you mean cold?”
You soured, distaste in every syllable, “Criminally unfunny.”
“I know you liked that one, sweets,” he shot back, waggling his eyebrows. “Now, let’s get to that meeting before they get any ideas about us, pretty girl.” He finished with a wink, and two giddy-up clicks of his tongue.
“I hate you.”
“That’s too bad, ‘cause I adore you.”
~~~
A few kisses in the alleyway, that’s all either of you asked for. Two minutes alone. Maybe more than three sentences exchanged about matters not pertaining to work. But, no. Even when you escaped the two men at your desk reciting an encyclopedic amount of knowledge about some type of engine you didn’t care about, you were roped into giving directions to the shop over the phone while shuffling through invoices in Mr. Moore’s office. And when Eddie got you pressed against the wall in the storage room, someone yelled for him to help with a rush job, killing the mood. To make matters worse, the grueling week ended with you and Eddie being scheduled on the same lunch slot, but with the approaching deadline for expense sheets being due at the end of the day, you were planning to eat yours at your desk, and avoid the torture of sitting next to him without being able to touch him like you wanted.
You opened the fridge and took out the Buckley special. Yellow squash casserole with a side of Shake ‘n Bake chicken. Eddie’s teal and purple lunch bag contained an extra helping of both. It’d become customary for Robin's mom to cook extra, and pack it away for you to bring for him. His actual lunch was in a paper bag next to it. Big spoiled man.
Speaking of, he was at the sink; sleeves rolled up his wrists, scrubbing himself clean with Fast Orange. Bitter citrus stung your nose as he lathered up his hands, working the pumice into the smudges of grease around his knuckles.
Mr. Moore got your attention without introduction. “I’m taking the wife out to that new Italian restaurant. Should’a asked her if she wanted Italian food, but oh well. We’re swingin’ by the sign shop next to it, and makin’ real sure our logo’s nice and big on that banner for tomorrow.” He accentuated the importance of David’s Auto Repair with high brows, and a canted head. He also managed to pronounce it both Eye-talian, and Uh-talian in the same thought. “Be back in, uhh—hour ‘n a half, maybe?” He swung his keys into his fist on his way out.
The group for lunch would be smaller, then. Maybe you could do your paperwork at the table, and get away with playing footsie with your favorite mechanic. Yipee.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Kevin announced, and you both looked at him over your shoulders. You were sorting the lunches to get the casseroles in the microwave, and Eddie was rubbing an extra squirt of Dawn between his fingers. Exceptionally mundane. “I was so impressed by that coffee this morning, I’m going down to the diner and ordering myself a sandwich and dessert. Prob’ly finish it up with another cup’a coffee after. Gonna make it a whole forty-five minute ordeal,” he sold the significance with several nods.
His immediate disappearance out the lobby door after his statement was strange, but you shrugged at each other, and went back to the lunches and hand washing.
“D’you know where those bottles of wax are?”
You shook your head. Eddie shook his head slower. A heavy thread of tension bred awareness between your two bodies strung taut from pent up urges.
“Weird,” Carl huffed. “I swear I just had ‘em. Well, shit. Can’t finish this car without at least one. I’ll go pick some up at the hardware store. Be back in a few,” he let you know, voice echoing off the hallway walls on his way to his truck.
Cold, warm, hot. Your blood buzzed. The bell above the front door dinged as it latched closed. Left behind was a lobby empty of people, garage paused in limbo, and a building cast in silence. You turned to Eddie. Dawning comprehension overtook your faces, wide eyes fixed on each other.
“Holy shit,” he exhaled, and you were already shoving your food back in the fridge, smashing his bologna sandwich in the process. Eddie cursed again, “Holy shit!” and snatched the hard bristle brush, scouring the dirt from under his nails, between his fingers, up his arms until the water ran clear and his skin burned pink. The same could be said for the grime on his cheeks. His light blue coveralls were soaked from the water dripping down his neck, but his face was spotless. Only the best for your lips.
“Oh, fuck, Eddie,” came your relief.
He accepted your willowy clutch on his sleeves. “It takes—It takes four minutes to get to the hardware store,” he stuttered in excitement, counting on his fingers behind your back, “so eight minutes roundtrip, factor in another eight for parking, looking for the wax, and checking out. That gives us sixteen minutes!”
Sixteen minutes where? Behind you was a plastic table which wobbled from an uneven foot. In the lobby was your desk in full view of the windows. In the bay were cars neither of you were quite brave enough to chance a stain on a seat.
“Um, um,” Eddie’s quick thinking trembled, about to suggest he take you there on the unforgiving tile floor, when he remembered, “Oh! My van! I brought my van.” He grasped you by the shoulders, shaking passion down to your toes about the hunk of metal parked outside his trailer when you visited. “I brought my van! I brought my van to drop off some amps at Gareth’s before the show!”
Rattled, you went to give him a thumbs up in full agreement, but he grabbed your hand, and bolted. You half-complained, half-shrieked, “You don’t need to drag me!” Reckless youth inspired him, broad grin loud and clear in his unadulterated sprint towards the OPEN sign and flipping it to display CLOSED. You skidded and bumped into him, bodies converging in true laughter. He caught you, he always caught you, and hauled you to the glass door, slowing in a smooth stride to open it for you. Always opening it for you. The garage was baked in sunshine, streaming through the warehouse windows on the bright day. Eddie’s boots clunked loud on the floor. A rock in the alleyway ricocheted off his shoe, bouncing off the tire of your temporary five star hotel.
The covert brown and cream van sat parked amongst the brick, gravel, and curls of dead leaves playing in the gentle breeze. It sat in full view of cars passing on either end of the back street. You hoped they were watching.
He wrenched one half of the creaky back doors open, and ushered you in the hollow between him and the carpeted floor, engulfing your face with his citrusy palms. “Don’t wanna waste a second,” he asserted in a winded breath, blurring your mind with a heady kiss, and impatient pat on your backside.
Rocks crunched under his boots. Two sturdy hands cupped the back of your thighs, helping you hop up onto the back of his van in a thrill of flirty giggles, weak for how bad he wanted you. Your calves slid against the warm metal bumper, your feet dangled by the exhaust pipe, your knees trapped his hips between your legs. His thick fingers sank into your fat, thumbs particularly bruising. Being everything he wanted, you snagged him closer by the collar, mouths almost meeting, and tilted yourself on the outline straining his coveralls, looking into his big brown eyes with a plea when the lone impact sweltered under your skin.
He hiked your knee to his waist, exposing you more to his packed heat aching to see you again. “C’mon,” he said, lips loaded with devilishness, “can’t stand to spend another second out here where I can’t have you.”
Anyone cruising by could bear witness to Hawkins’ number one Satanist loading a pretty young thing in the back of his ice cream sandwich colored van, and make assumptions.
Bless them.
You scooted backwards into the belly of the dragon’s lair. For an old beater used for transporting band equipment, he took good care of it. The carpet was clean. The wood paneling up the sides remained unscuffed. The back seat was taken out to make room for a hard case for a guitar, and two large amps wrapped in a spare comforter to prevent damage on either. And that’s where your observations ended.
Eddie’s indecent gaze was set on the stretch of white cotton under your dress. Nothing could break his stare as he threw his hair in a low bun, grabbed either side of the metal doorframe, stepped one foot on the edge, and bounced the van twice before hauling himself—and his manic smile—inside.
The acoustics amplified the door slamming shut.
His boots made for two heavy lovedrunk steps. Bruises were earned on his knees, dropping to them where your hem had ridden up, keen eyes traveling the valley between your thighs, up to the soft round of your nipples. Expecting his imminent weight, you laid back. Heat from the floor warmed you through your clothes. He crawled over you; one hand by your hip, the other next to your shoulder. You were lying beneath him for the first time, and he behaved long enough to memorize your gentle grin, and adoring squint.
“Oh, you’re gonna be the end of me,” he said, accent thick in his throat, ripe with lust. The gravel alone had your hands on the back of his neck, attempting to pull him down, to continue the momentum. But he didn’t budge. Distant in the blood rush, he found a bit of sobriety to ask, “D’ya mind if I get you dirty? I’m kinda gross.” His coveralls were marked with grime, dusted with dirt, splotched with oil. The overt blue collar status of his job opposed the unblemished burgundy and stark white tee of yours, sitting at a desk and answering phones in semi-working A/C.
You admired the mental fortitude it took to ask you first, but now was not the time to be a gentleman.
“So get me gross,” you replied, and a flicker of revelation stirred in his features. “I want to be gross with you.” You, Munson, The Freak of Hawkins, the one who everyone avoided; he who was rejected for being unapologetically himself. Taking advantage of his solid shoulders, you peeled yourself off the floor, and from the depths of belonging, you set fire to his kindling. “Make me fucking dirty.”
Eddie’s mouth pursed, then stretched thin, cheeks high, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “My pleasure.”
Plush lips crashed onto yours, body covering you in desperation, touch starved. His weight hugged you, pinned you. He flattened his arm alongside your head for support, and welcomed your legs bent around the length of his backside. Playfully suggestive hums followed his greedy hand scaling your thigh. Short layers of his hair fell forward, tickling your cheeks in summer innocence, while down below his thumb grazed the narrow string of your thong strapped over your hip in a fraction of the hunger he had for you. One trace under your panties, and the kiss went sloppy with tongue; slick mouths mashing, teeth knocking, jaws aching, and lips swollen. Aggressive, possessive, and dizzy. Your dress bunched around your waist. Rugged fabric rasped where your chests met. Smears of grime, dust, oil dirtied you.
Because the clock was ticking, you sped things up with a squeeze around his ass. Eddie listened. Oh, Eddie listened. He took the thrust in stride, pressing down on your need, and catching your forehead with his. The pain was negligible. A gift, even, to hold your gaze when you clawed for the waist of his coveralls, and harnessed a hotter tension on your underwear. A concentrated craze blunted by the thick layers separating you. You lifted your hips for him, spurring more, faster, pouring your strength into earning a faint squeak on the van’s suspension.
He nosed your chin up, and slipped painful kisses over your jaw, finding the spot below your ear to laud, like you did to him, sucking and releasing when your whine doubled. “Pretty,” he moaned into a harder kiss along the trail of spit his breath cooled. The edge of his teeth scraped another fragile gasp. He rocked his hips for a better one. “Love the way you sound.”
Grasping for clarity in the haze, you reminded him, “Just for you.”
“Fuck” —his voice cracked in the sprint to recover what those three little words did to him— “that’s fuckin’ right just for me.”
Copying what you did in the breakroom, he brought his hand up from your waist to move your shirt out of the way, exposing the meat at the base of your neck. Too excited, he left a map of his teeth. The bite stung your nails into his back. “Sorry,” he regretted, but you denied your pained gulp of air, rubbing your cheek along his temple in a head shake, S’okay. He ran his tongue over the grooves as an apology, anyway. Tracking the dips and curves, licking, suckling, and nipping however hard he could to make you scratch circles on his scalp while struggling with the two syllables of his name.
His hair smelled of fertile soil and charred earth, a tang of metal and new tires.
You gave yourself over to the garden of his scent, sunshine against your eyelids. Beyond the fatigue in your inner thighs was his constant, eager, chase. Chewing through his leash. Gnawing at his restraints. You focused on the long graze of friction, and forgot your surroundings which did not serve the fleeting jolts of pleasure between your legs, or the groping at your tits. You didn’t know there was an issue until Eddie’s frustrated grunt led to a harder tug at the unforgiving neckline of your dress, and finally, he shoved himself upright.
“How the hell do I get this off you?”
That explains why he was grabbing at both sides beneath your arms in search of a zipper.
Blinking, suddenly coming back to Earth, you contained your snort at his distressed motioning at the offensive garment enough to tell him, “It’s in the back,” and added, “like most dresses made in the last two, or three decades.”
He beckoned for you to sit up—a sharp gesture, but not without reason—and with your arms around his neck, he unzipped it with such speed, the plastic teeth should’ve melted from the traction. As he lowered you, the straps slipped from your shoulders, thick fingers inviting the release down to your elbows, breadwinner fists folding the top of the dress over on itself, joining where the bottom was scrunched around your middle. You’d only shaken the straps from your wrists when your body rocked side to side; a victim to his fumbling way of untucking your shirt, dying from suspense.
Stale air struck you from navel to neck.
His warm tongue was on you. “Oh—mm!” your voice raised a girlish notch. Two fat laps into coaxing your nipple tall, and fresh embarrassment ramped up your cheeks from the choked noise you made. You arched into his mouth for more, seeking foundation on his hands when an accidental skim of his teeth piqued your nerves alight. Rolling your head back, you found him through touch, starting with his wrists, working up to his knuckles, and curved squeeze cupping your tits together. He showed you how his mouth watered at the sight. Switching sides, he gifted the other stiff bud with a wet swirl, slipping over it again and again, gaining a squirm in your hips when he changed the speed—and without a break, he went back to the first to suckle, and his unintentional moan slipped out louder than yours when he pulled off.
He released a ragged breath into the valley between your breasts, “Couldn’t help myself.”
His determination throbbed impressions along your body even after he sat on his knees, leaving aches behind as a result of the sixteen short minutes he had with you. The adrenaline stayed in his shaky fingers. The top button of his coveralls dodged his pinch, eluding him. Another attempt, and a darker shade of red crept up his throat. “God fucking damnit, why’d I wear the ones that fucking button all the way down,” he fumed, wishing he could rip it open like the metal snap pair. You peered at his predicament through your lashes, and helped him out.
You tucked your chin to your shoulder in a pout, and competed for his attention, “Hurry up.”
“I know, sweet—” he verbally hit the brakes.
All too pretty, you pushed your tits together and strummed your fingers over your nipples in easy flicks, using his spit to skate over the peaks. You opened your legs wider, feeling his eyes devour you between the thighs. “I’ve missed you all week,” you said. His pulse jumped at the tiny excuse for underwear wedged further into the split, trimmed hair growing on either side.
Too long of a pause passed where his expression was slack. “Jesus Christ.” Working faster, he tore through the rest of the buttons, possibly losing one in the process, and shucked the jumpsuit over his shoulders. He flapped his arms to get the sleeves off, and his stark black tattoos made an appearance. The clumsy way he undressed shouldn’t have an affect on you, but when he took hold of the stuck cuff and the plastic beads clicked together on his bracelet, fresh roots of attraction thrived. Underneath his workwear a white ribbed tank top stretched over his chest. It must’ve been bought long ago when he was a size smaller, the bulk he’d packed on at the garage filled out the seams to their limit. Soft definition contoured the sun around his muscles. Veins strained the surface of his forearms, streaking shadows through the golden rays. Sparse curls fanned over the top of the neckline, thicker under his arms, and dark where his shirt rode up.
The jumpsuit hung loose around his hips, giving a peek at his boxers.
“You don’t wear jeans under those?”
“No? Did you think I did?”
The thought never crossed your mind until it was the only thing on your mind. You just assumed he would, so you shrugged, thinking of quickies in the future.
Eddie’s tolerance for conversation was low. A shuddered exhale blew past his lips, easing his hand down the front of his coveralls, pumping along the length fighting for his attention while he obsessed with what laid before him. Irresistible temptations which would forever change the way he looked at you were created the moment you touched yourself for him. Two fingers, two little circles over your underwear. You lured him, hypnotized him, sighing sweetly at the satisfaction. His bicep jumped in strength to restrain his pace, forearm pulsing from the choke he had on his base.
“Better calm down,” you teased in a slow lilt.
He scoffed—shallow in mockery, but burdened by the truth of the lines softening around his eyes. Shoving his coveralls low enough for his ego to stretch freely against his boxers, he walked his hands beside your body until his mouth was posed above yours. A suggestion of touch hovered over your knuckles rolling in a rhythm to honor yourself. “I haven’t known calm since I met you.” Your face scrunched cutely at the compliment, and you stopped adding fuel to your fire by bringing both arms around his neck, preparing your lips for a kiss which would not come. “I haven’t known calm since I met you,” he repeated. “So why start now?”
Unexpected pleasure consumed you. Eddie rocked his hips forward, and the raw glide of his cock with the thinnest separation of fabric possible stole anything that wasn’t animal instinct. You locked your ankles behind his thighs, drove the thrust deeper, and he answered by grinding down, working his base between your lips, loyal to you and the sweat beading on his brow.
You wrenched his tank top in your fists and felt it go tight where your chests merged, grazing over your nipples harsher with each rut. His shoulders shifted under your curious roaming, bulk of his body withdrawing. He didn’t stray far, only to tuck his forehead to your neck where he could hear the catch in your throat and the beat of your heart. Cozying to a place so near, you heard his guitar pick schlink past the beads of his necklace. Adjusting, he slipped into a deeper position between your legs, and a kiss was dipped to the top of your collarbone, long lashes brushing your skin as his eyes fell closed.
Cradled as one, Eddie dragged his cock down your heat, and followed the new angle up. Pitiful begs broke faster than his jagged groan. His fat tip notched itself at the top of your tender lips, nestled where your thong gathered, and he kept you on the precipice of your moan—of which you crashed into splendidly.
“That’s—god, Eddie, right there,” you babbled into a whimper.
“Fuck, such a pretty sound, baby,” his voice faltered on the endearment, panting hot and sticky on your throat.
The damp spot on his boxers grew. His unrelenting strokes over your clit fast-tracked you both towards the edge.
“Did you—condoms?”
Perking with interest at your hitched whisper, his stubble scrubbed your jaw in a delight of scratches on his way to nose at your cheek. “Picked ‘em up on my way home last night.” The suggestive rasp in his voice took residence in your rib cage, smitten by the thought of him going through a checkout so he was prepared to fuck you the next day. “They’re in the.. the..”
The rate at which his soul left his body would surprise grim reapers.
“Where’re they?”
Understanding your concern, he kept his eyes screwed shut and whittled at the knot between his brows with his knuckle, drilling away the irritation at himself. “They’re in the glove compartment.. of my car.”
“Oh.” The disappointment was brief. Your body clung to the fever he set, knowing you were both close, and paradise was another weekend away. Thinking quickly, you cupped his cheeks and put a swing in your tone, “We can do other stuff!” Hoping it was good enough, you scrutinized his expression, watching the words register, sink in, brighten his pupils into unholy territory at the idea.
The charm of his dimple was the cherry on top of his two front teeth emerging from the leap of his lips. Earnesty from a thousand endless wells poured out of him, “I love other stuff,” he said, imbuing each round word with a secret.
Jumping up, his enthusiasm was hampered by the roof. “Close call,” he commented to himself, narrowly dodging a concussion. He crouched to some degree, and made his way over to the amps, hiking up his coveralls to his hips as he went. The sheer lust in his weight pressing you to the floor was sorely missed, but you sat up to watch him waddle the amps to the center of the van and tip them, guiding their front plates down flat.
You puzzled out why he would line them up like a short mattress, and began salivating at the thought of him sitting on the additional height, and having his cock better in line with your mouth. “Are those for you?” Eagerness lifted your voice, swam in your glossy eyes. Eddie should be thanking the stars he landed someone so enthusiastic about drinking him whole after putting in hours around the shop, but instead of getting his brain-stopped-working glazed over stare, he slapped the amps twice.
“These are for you, pretty girl. Come sit down. I gotta thank you, remember?”
A memory of torn nylon and unfulfilled promises sparked at his phrasing.
Gotta thank you.
Getting to your feet, you arranged your arms for a bit of modesty, and snuck past the back windows, walking on shaky legs to where he kneeled at one end of the makeshift bed. Pure affection spotlighted you as the sole receiver of his enraptured smile, face aglow. He squeezed the tips of your fingers as you sat, and his lips were the softest thing to grace your cheek. It was the sweetest you’d seen him, especially when he anchored his palms to your hips, and his nerves crept in.
“Just, uh, tell me—or, let me know if I’m doing something you don’t like, okay?”
You tittered, “Okay,” as if you weren’t on the brink of unraveling regardless of skill, or even effort.
Putting faith in the durability of the hard shell encased amps, you leaned back on your hands, lowering to your elbows on the texture plastic, relaxing through the suspense of being on display for someone for the first time—and in broad daylight, too. Dim bedside lamps and flattering angles could obscure much, but why hide anything when your boyfriend spent the better part of his week biting at the cage of adult responsibilities keeping him from you? He’s the one who hid the new order of car wax for an excuse to fuck you sloppy in the back of his van. You basked in his reaction.
Eddie’s hands wandered the curves spread on the pedestal before him. One palm cupped your chest where his spit dried to a sheen, teasing your nipple lightly; juxtaposed, the other shaped itself over your waist and hips, clamping on your knee and smoothing his muzzled grip up your thigh. They joined to ruck the hem of your dress higher. But before the reveal, he bent over the slope of your body to cherish the glitters of sweat sparkling across your sternum. The minutes working against your escapade were unforgiving, but he chose to dedicate a few moments to your natural salt as he hooked his fingers under the stretch of your underwear. The cotton stuck to the praise he’d given you thus far, damp and tight, a work of art. Moving them aside, he stayed kissing the curve of your belly.
Intense, hot-blooded throbs of desperation concentrated on the immediate relief of your wet heat being exposed for appreciating. Fingertips caressed into a curl for his knuckles to adore your puffy lips plumped together, tracing up the other side with his thumb, and cresting the short curls at the top. A tortured lurch in your hips followed his touch when he took it away. Not a strong enough man to deprive his girl for long, he allayed you in kiss down your antsy chase, and sat back on his calves, landing his gaze where his fantasies only imagined.
He didn’t do anything for a few seconds.
Sunlight streamed from the window over his shoulder, shining radiance on the glisten made for him.
His lungs emptied in a thin, wispy breath.
Manners vanished when it came to a starving man. Your excited gasp lapsed into a spell of stunned giggles, which shot into an open-mouthed ah! No composure to spare, he dove in, shouldering one of your legs and hooking an arm around to pry your thong out of his way. Fat tongue, longer than you knew, buried between your lips. Insistent mouth framed by your pussy. Jaw slack to lap up his reward. He leaned his entire being into licking inside you, and dragging upwards, mixing your arousal with his spit and swirling it in a heavy circle. A single direct graze, and your chest rose and fell in stuttered bursts, shaking through the beginning of a sweet whimper. A light suckle from him pulling off to swallow the taste, and escaping your throat was a noise capable of convincing him God was real.
Attentive eyes connected over your mound. Big, brown, and pleased. Pupils inundated by curiosity, yet abundantly aware. Respecting you to the highest degree, he edged his fixation, surrounding your swollen clit with his full lips to feel you throb through the contact. “Eddie—” Your nipples hardened through the helpless pant of his name at the first true suction. Increasingly mesmerized by the response he earned when he added pressure, he stamped his tongue to his top lip and dropped it to his bottom, adding the sort of strokes that had your hand in his hair. “Eddie, you’re gonna make me cum so fast,” you rushed out. The shame in your whisper felt less like shame and more like a compliment when you held the back of his head, and tilted yourself in offering.
In one solid action, you were yanked to the edge of the amp by his grip twisting around your dress, and he looped his arms around your hips to hug you closer still, sealing your gift to his mouth. Muffled whines of gratitude came from his throat, so thankful for the opportunity, eyelashes batting heavily at the privilege of your inner thighs squishing his cheeks. Too beautiful. Could watch it for hours if you had the time.
You stretched out on your five star hotel bed, and closed your eyes, focusing on the articulation of his tongue against your need.
Steady licks devolved into wet kisses sucked between your lips. Pleasure bloomed from the place he persisted, weaving warmth from your stomach to your fingers in his loose curls. You swept his bangs from the beads of sweat plastering them to his forehead, raking them back with your fingernails on his scalp, luxuriating in the connection of your honeyed caress and his moan rumbling against your core. “Feels so—so fucking good,” you gushed.
The weight of one of his arms let up. Smooth calluses swept to your knee, rubbing the spanse of your thigh before shaking a handful of your fat, and leaving a sting of his handprint behind. Your body rocked from him shifting under your legs. Bumpy actions led to his mouth withdrawing, and the sounds of him making out with your cunt were replaced by your heartbeat hammering in your ears. He sat up to his knees briefly, and came back to tend to you in a distracted rhythm, clothes rustling in the process. A question formed in your head, but before you could ask it, he latched his pout around your clit, and worked you into a frenzy.
Pressure prodded at your entrance. One finger glided in without trouble. He fucked you with two, then. Two crooked inside, knuckles shoved against the hypersensitive skin running slick with arousal. He strove for a response until your heels dug into his back, and he knew the sensations were linked—inside and out, mouth and fingers.
Then he took his hand away.
You were left feeling empty when there was nothing to clench around, but his devotion didn’t waver. Your muscles twitched at each immaculate lick, thighs closing in on him, too close to care about whatever else he was doing. You concentrated on yourself, arching into your hands, spoiling yourself with fluttery traces over your nipples, rolling the buds in light pinches at the enthusiasm he had for savoring you. The constant vibrations of satisfaction he hummed on your pussy were enough to have you dripping, and when his big fingers stretched you open again, pumping you full in a few thrusts along the base of nerves which burned your cheeks, the van echoed every indecent soppy smack.
And again, there was a sensation of him curving his fingers deeper than normal before his shoulder dropped, and viscous yearning flowed after the emptiness.
A repetitive soft thumping noise blended to the back of your consciousness.
Eddie committed his sense of self to making you cum. Learning the unambiguous signs of your release, and being the reason they manifested, became his purpose. Sucking ceaselessly, investing the curve of his lips, his agile tongue, his entire mouth to heed the steady motion. Fingers still coated in sticky lewdness, they returned to fuck you too. Your deep breaths turned shallow, stomach seizing on moans and releasing them in trembling gasps. Waves on waves on waves of bliss crested under your hot skin, and your voice went too tight in your throat to not drive him crazy, “Eddie, I’m gonna—!”
Groans in the lower octave of a man enjoying himself shaped your release crashing over you.
The intimacy of his tongue on your oversensitive clit was incomparable, sending you into shamelessly grinding on his mouth, huffing out tiny whimpers as your muscles braced around him. Tighter, and tighter, until the tension became too much, and you were shivering for his mercy, riding the last jolts of your climax snug against his nose. “Please,” you squirmed for less, then when he gave you less, your ankles locked behind his back through the torture of a few more.
Doses of euphoria swam in your veins. Sinking from your high, heaviness blanketed your limbs. Bonelessness seeped from top to bottom. Tingly warmth took over, relaxing you to a state of clarity, flourishing in the scratch of Eddie’s five o’clock shadow on your inner thighs. He let go of your underwear, issuing an apology for where the material cut into your skin with a gentle roam over your hip as both hands left you.
The bend where the underside of your knees draped his shoulders bounced at an impressive speed.
You peered over your curves to sate your curiosities. Eddie’s temple rested on your leg, bangs askew and hair a mess of frizz and curls stuck to the sheen on his neck. He’d yet to move from his position, laying his head where he could, face angled to admire his work, eyes heavy-lidded past the point of inebriation. Ambient sun decorated the glisten around his mouth. A gleam of drool wet his red lips, flushed darker than his cheeks, which he pressed into a slow swallow over your tender cunt.
His exhale cooled the wetness before his tongue warmed it up.
A sharp hiss jumped into a whine of his name. “S’too much,” you strained. A wrecked man, Eddie couldn’t hear you through the pride you afforded him, flirting delicate kisses on your overworked clit, surrendering to the hold you had over him, and reveling in the aftermath of making you cum. Gradually going limp, his nose mashed to your mound, mouth hung open, pushing your orgasm in lazy laps. Another cry, beg, aftershock of his name and the burden of his forehead fell to your hip crease, filling his lungs in uneven drags. The break in sensory overload was appreciated; a sigh of relief.
You sat up and dropped your legs from their mantle, intent on clearing the fuzz from your mind, but—Eddie’s elbow rubbed a fierce tempo along your calf. The motion synced with the fast-paced squelch you heard earlier, before it faded to the background along with the soft thump and rustle of clothes. All of it came together in an echo of answers. Straightening up further, you witnessed exactly how worked up he was over your pussy.
Speechless awe overrode your ability to form sentences
In the gap framed by your thighs, his body shuddered through the fervent strokes focused over his lap. With his coveralls slacked to the tops of his thighs, he cupped his balls over the waistband of his boxers, skin bouncing in his palm, soft grip protecting their load while his other hand worked his length. Clear slick trickled over his knuckles, fingers slipping over the cream gathered at the head and guiding it down. Absolutely candid in his attraction, he fucked his fist using your arousal as lube.
In just a few twists over the blushy needy tip, he pumped the base in effort to make himself last, and peeled his sticky cheek off your thigh, looking up at you. Whiskey eyes awfully honest, awfully clear and round, he said, “You’re about to make me cum so hard.” In the vocal pause, the wet glide of his palm drove him to the edge, and his tone grew pointed as he went beyond the point of slowing down, “Like, now.”
The reason behind his direness took a moment to register, but when it did, panic flickered through you.
“Oh—shit—uh,” you stuttered. He needed a place to cum, and in your post-orgasmic daze you dropped your chin to think of your tits first, but had the wherewithal to decide against the possibility of him misaiming onto your dress. Beside you, the blanket was mostly stuck under the amps, and there wasn’t an extra rag in sight. His tank top was an option, but you thought of a better one. “My mouth!” you insisted with a gesture. “I’ll—” swallow.
Eddie was already to his feet. The van rocked with his heavy boots, wide stance stretching his coveralls tight around his legs, and undershirt pushed up out of the way. He braced one hand on the roof, cushioning his head bent to the metal in order to stand, and resumed his pace. You stuck your tongue out. The immediate pressure of his cock prodded the flat middle. Tasting yourself for the first time, the tang was surprising, but welcomed by the familiar salt leaking from his tip mixing with your spit. Warming up to the blend, you swirled sultry licks on the sensitive underside he avoided, and his tattooed stomach clenched.
Sitting pretty, you knew what he liked and cupped your tits together, gazing up at him with a submissive pinch between your brows. “So goddamn hot,” he grunted out, jaw clenched as if he were mad, stroking himself faster. His middle finger rammed over your lip on every pass. It might swell. It might bruise. “So—mmm—f’king hot.” Breaths jagged, his thighs flexed from the buckle in his knees, staggering him a step forward enough to put tension on your gag reflex. You clutched his jumpsuit into your fists. His rough groans shook through his stature. Building cusps of his release stuttered his hand flying over his cock, jerking himself off in bursts as pleasure peaked under his skin. The scrunch of concentration above his nose deepened. His stomach tightened in pulses, pecs jumping with his gasp, “Gonna,” and he was spilling into your mouth.
A moan made its way through your throat before it closed in a quick swallow. Tongue out, he trembled as he coated you some more. The first two shots were heavy, the rest followed suit, filling you for another round which you accepted with your lips snug around his fat tip. He doubled over at the achy raw sensation of your cheeks hollowing. Baby, he throbbed into you, flinching, yet giving. Allowed, you polished swirls over the throbbing head, lapping up any remains. You sat there with his clean cock in your mouth, meditating on the line drawn from the tattooed dragon wrapped around the sword pointing at the trail from his navel to the thick patch of curls at his base, which you could only reach when he was going soft, as he was then.
He tucked himself into his boxers after you pulled away, and sank to his knees. The sweat on his forehead merged with yours, oily noses pressed together, eyes hardly open as he trusted you to hold him up. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” his voice came hoarse with sincerity, anchored by the current of true longing flowing from the depths of his past. “How much it means to me, making you feel good like you make me feel good.” For Eddie, having proof of the good he could provide for you validated parts of himself he hadn't acknowledged for years. “Sorry I made it about myself in the end there. I, uh—ha—I couldn’t help myself when you were getting into it, and saying my name, ‘nd stuff.” Your bark of laughter encouraged his shy giggle, all bashful and humble.
Kissing his smile, your lips connected on the fated scents of each other after a hot and heavy day at work, and he sighed into palms fitting themselves to his jaw, mouth fixed in a taut smile as he worked through the happiness welling in his throat.
You told him, “Make me cum like that, and you can do whatever you want, Munson.” He snorted at his name, and played with strands of hair over his face, hiding his stupid grin. “I’m serious. Not that I thought you’d be bad or anything, but that was beyond good. Like, really good.” You should stop talking. “And it was flattering. Like, hot. It was really hot,” you decided, “knowing you couldn’t stop touching yourself—”
“Stop,” he complained in an embarrassed whine. Unable to take praise outside the heat of the moment, his gaze made friends with the floor while he mumbled about how he was a motivated learner and pulled out all his tricks to impress you, tucking his chin to avoid owning his skill. He dropped the act on a dime. Pointing, an overabundance of pride entered his tone once more, “You, uhm.. you christened my amp.”
“Huh?” You spread your legs to see. Utter mortification stung your nerves at the sticky stream of arousal, spit, and climax drying down the side of the plastic, wetting his piece of expensive equipment. “Oh god, I’m so sorry! Is it okay? Did I damage it—?”
“I got it,” he said with a firm hand to your sternum, laying you flat.
The low rumble in his throat drew near. Staying gentle, he parted your slippery split in a deep lick to your inner heat, running his tongue in broad strokes up the extra passion made just for him, quenching his thirst before your lunch break rendezvous was over. An appreciative kiss was bestowed on your clit before he smoothed your underwear into place. He wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, and helped you up. The amp was left how it was.
Eddie opened his arms, and you understood. Moving slow through the syrup in your limbs, you straddled his lap, settling yourself over his softened cock, sensitive selves brushing through clothes. He reached behind him and popped open the door. Fresh air smacked rivers of sweat, cooling and calming. You melted into the other’s embrace, bonding in the last moments of your time together.
Sun glanced off the wood paneling, casting a glow on his puffy face. Sleepy eyes, messy hair, unbearably adorable grin—the type of candid expression showing how honored he was to share the same breath in the limited space between your chests. Lovesick eyes, bed head, face he’d have to wash in the bathroom sink with hand soap. So handsome. You combed the delicate hairs at his nape up into his bun, scratching tingles through his body. The threat of being caught was ignored for one minute longer.
Traces of humor rounded his clipt tone, “I need you next weekend. ‘Kay? I don’t care what we gotta do—if we gotta send Buckley off on some island vacation—I want some real alone time with you.”
“What? Is the van not good enough?”
“No,” he answered your tease with a serious drawl, raising his eyebrows. “This was just to hold us over until then. I don’t wanna make a habit of this, ‘cause then this? This is all I’ll think about when I’m supposed to be, y’know, working. Fixing shit. Not.. picturing you with your tits out.” Speaking of the distraction, he tugged your shirt down, and you fell into a fit of giggles, snickering against the crook of his neck as you stuffed the hem in your dress, and he crawled the straps up your arms, managing to zip the back up without looking.
Of which your good mood dwindled when you collected yourself. “Aw..”
“Yeah, it’s kinda worse than I thought it’d be.. Sorry.”
Dirt, motor oil, grime. Streaks, smears, smudges. And plenty of it. The burgundy dress he adored was visibly ruined, and only half way through your clocked-in hours.
You found the silver lining. “Guess I’ll wear black from now on.”
“Black looks good on you,” he assured. You reared back to assess the damage, and he filled the stretch of his palms with two handfuls of ass, ensuring you didn’t lose balance. Always willing to be of assistance, of course. “Oh, and may I say, genius planning on your part with the car wax,” he stressed his admiration of you. “Can’t believe I didn’t think of that myself.”
Not following, you stopped scraping your nail over a patch of dust clinging to your white sleeve. “I thought you hid the car wax?”
“No..”
The next line was predictable. You would meet eyes, wait a beat, and deliver ‘Then.. who did?’ However, Eddie proved his impulsive thoughts won when devious shadows crowded the hook of his smirk, dimple arising. He opened his mouth, and you knew no good would come from it.
“I didn’t even fuck you, and you already can’t remember where you put the—Gah!” He shrieked at your pinch on his nipple, and the van rocked harder with your combined laughter, obnoxious in every organic way.
Casual wasn't an option when you wore this dress. Dialed back lost its meaning one root beer ago. The afternoon delight would live in the fibers of your unspoken language every morning when you looked at each other; coffee, cigarettes, spearmint. Goodbye normal workplace relationship, and good riddance.
~~~
Carl entered the lobby with confusion on his brow. He eyed the CLOSED sign on the door, and shuffled the bottles of wax loaded in his arms to turn it around, almost dropping them in the process. Earsplitting guitar licks and shrill vocals belonging to Iron Maiden beat on the windows to the garage, drawing his attention to the half-dressed mechanic ripping a bite out of his bologna sandwich, and flipping a socket wrench in his hand, head banging along to his music. Carl slid his side-eye away. Questions were not asked on his walk past your desk, merely serving a glance at your forkful of perceptibly congealed squash casserole which hadn’t been microwaved. Better yet, he didn’t address the canvas jacket you wore despite the visible shine dotting your forehead, nor your wheezing breaths as if you’d sat in your chair approximately thirty-nine seconds ago. He continued down the hall in silence.
The hair on your nape stood on end from someone’s gaze on you. The correct choice would be to ignore it, keep your head down, and finish the expense reports due by the time Robin picked you up. But like a good bitch, you submitted.
Waiting for you was Eddie’s cocky grin. Through the dusty glass pane indulgent curves of mischief edged his eyes into smug little crescents glinting from the secret between your bodies. Boundless amounts of vanity broadened his chest, pecs jumping as he tightened the sleeves of his coveralls tied around his waist. He peacocked in a slow turn to bend over the engine he was working on, shifting from foot to foot and leaning his hands on the car, flexing through the motion to catch swathes of shadows on the swell of his triceps leading to his hardened shoulders, strong back taking shape under his tank top. Mesmerizing. You couldn’t begin to imagine a world where you could keep the dreamy sigh out of your voice when Carl’s bewildered question arose.
“Wait—Were these here the whole time?” Judging by the plastic bounce and cardboard scramble, he had dropped one of the bottles, and when he dropped to his knees to grab it from behind a mop bucket you forgot to empty, he spotted the box of car wax you ordered at the start of the week and misplaced amongst the chaos in the storage closet.
“Oh? Were they?” you wondered. Stuffing the casserole in your mouth, the fork tines scraped across your teeth on its way out, chewing with your cheek propped on your fist. Blinking sleepily at the purply blue bruises you left on Eddie’s neck the morning before, you replied from faraway, “Weird. Thought I left them on the shelf.. Maybe the garage is cursed like Hawkins, too.”
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