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gloomunson · 2 months ago

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In The Back Seat

The one where he's in a band, about to leave for a huge tour... This is my first published Steve fic. If you see mistakes, no you don't. Hope you enjoyyyyyyyyy.

Word Count: 11,247

He never meant to hurt you. I suppose no one ever means to hurt anyone. It just sort of happens and then they’re left to either pick up the pieces or hide away in shame or God forbid show no remorse at all. He felt guilt. He felt a tremendous amount of guilt actually. That was a good sign, maybe not for you but for him, definitely. He wasn’t a lost cause. He could rectify it or hope to. You’d let him drive you home too. You can’t have completely hated him if you allowed that. You could have called a cab just as easily as you’d asked him to be the one to drive you. You looked on the verge of tears when you asked him, not ideal for him. He hadn’t enjoyed it, not like that.

You don’t sit beside him in the passenger seat like he expects. He glances to the empty seat beside himself as if he were still waiting on you to settle there. You don’t beg him to turn the radio down. You don’t say anything at all. He suspects you might cross your arms over your chest in some form of tantrum or way to signify how badly he’d fucked up and that you were pissed at him because he knew in his head and heart that you were. You can’t even find it in yourself to do that. Your hands are lay flat against your thighs, one on each, so still. You’d given him nothing. You just looked out of the window, feeling as if you were in some kind of movie, some sad film sequence, just watching the world fade away. You’d never looked so dejected before.

He finds it hard to focus on the road. He watches it more than he watches you, but he finds himself flickering over to you so fast his eyes start to hurt. At the next redlight he decided to dig his hand into the glovebox compartment, digging through takeout receipts and old cassettes to fetch his glasses. He didn’t wear them often, especially not around anyone else. Not as vein as he once was but still fighting with the natural aging process as anyone else their age was. But alas, he'd needed to be safer with you in the car, he’d needed to see the road much further ahead and the signs you drove by in the barely illuminated in the night. He needed his glasses.

He curses under his breath when his hands struggle to land on them immediately. He watches the lights, then you, then the lights again while he grabs them, anxiously rushing himself to get them out, unbent and on his face before the lights changed again. He shuts the compartment, sliding the lenses over the bridge of his nose, notably on edge. He dared to glance your way again. He could now see your pain with 20/20 vision. Fuck glasses.

He feels he should say something. He could distract you. He could engage in small talk. You didn’t even have to answer, a glance in his direction would have been a win for him. He’s tapping the steering wheel. It’s as if his entire vocabulary had escaped him. His mouth had gone dry. He finds himself scratching at his chin, his short scruff a pleasant feeling under his fingernails. He still darts eyes over to you as if you’d have gone somewhere in the seconds it took him to think.

The headlights of the car behind had given you this glow and upon noticing it he’d let out a deep and painful sigh. He hadn’t ever seen you look as beautiful as you did right then. Which is a shocking realisation for him when he’d always considered you breath-taking. He swears he could crash this car and go out in an eternal blaze, and it would have been worth it because the last thing he saw was you.

He saw you, like this, biting your lip to avoid speaking to him. Brushing your fingertips over your thighs, occasionally tugging your skirt down towards your knees. You with your legs growing cold even under your thick tights that you’d picked because you thought you’d get a chill. He saw you unable to look at him. Fighting internally (or so you thought) to avoid his gaze. You were such a sight to behold. As he neared your side of town, just a mere 10 minutes from your home, he found himself unable to take you there. He was left powerless to his deepest intentions, and he diverted your journey.

You don’t think too much of it. There were so many routes he could take. He would take you there, you were sure of it. You didn’t show signs of stress, of anxiety, no more than you already had just being in this position. You just watched the buildings whiz by. The streetlights flickering here and there. Worst of all, the billboards reminding you of just why you’d been so upset in the first place. You couldn’t look out of the window much longer.

You had a dumb fight. All fights were dumb but this one especially. You went to his stupid party, at his stupid friend’s house. You couldn’t have known. You still wouldn’t have known, even now, if it hadn’t been for someone else. You feel the tension knotting in your stomach as your mind wanders back to it. You wanted to cry so badly, to be able to feel anything at all without the intensity of his eyes catching you at any second because of course you noticed him. You couldn’t not notice him. He was all you were ever aware of, and you were so god damn hurt because he didn’t have the decency to share the same sentiment with you.

You sigh with frustration. You’ve had enough. “Let me out.” You say it sternly. “What?” He responds, near choking on air as the words are still leaving you. “Let. Me. Out.” He’s puzzled. He’s still driving, far enough away from your house that you wouldn’t dare walk from here, not at this hour. “Are you kidding me? No, I’m not stopping.” He watches the road more intently for the first time since you left the driveway of his friend’s house. “Steve, let me out of this fucking car.” Your tone is calm, and your heart is anything but. He thinks you’re fucking crazy, face doing nothing to hide it too.

He wants to fight you on it. He doesn’t want to lose you. But he might lose you if he doesn’t stop. There was also a heavy possibility that he would lose you even if he did. “Then what?” He asks. Shrugging, urging you for your next steps. You look to him in the mirror, your lips are parted, nothing coming out. “No plan? No way of getting home?” He’s trying to gesture with his hands while they remain on the wheel. “Not letting you out then.” He thinks he has you defeated. He might even be smug about it, looking at you through the mirror as if he’d won. He’s not even close.

“I’ll call a taxi.” He scoffs. “Yeah? Why didn’t you do that about 20 minutes ago?” He’s shocked he’s managed to argue with you. Just minutes ago, his heart was aching, and he was terrified he’d upset you and now he was arguing. It was fight or flight and you were important enough for him to pick the former. He’d regret it another time, he’s sure. “Because I didn’t think of it then.” You exasperate, flinging your arms out. “Just let me out Steve.” You stare right into his eyes; you have a cold and serious glare. He pulls over begrudgingly, but he doesn’t unlock the car. It was war.

You know not to bother with the handle, he’d already thought of that. Considering he was such an airhead on a day to day; he seemed to be carrying himself pretty well tonight. He was just hellbent on destroying your happiness. Maybe he should progress that as a career on top of lying to you. That would go down a real treat.

“Talk to me.” He pleads. Voice soft in the way it only ever was for you. Not that you’d ever noticed. It was worth a try. “No.” He rolls his eyes, fingers running along the leather of the steering wheel before returning to the top, gripping it so tightly his knuckles were turning white. “Just yell at me already, do whatever you have to.” He slumps back in his seat, head hitting the rest behind it with a thud. It had to hurt. Good, you thought.

“You could have fucking told me.” You surprised yourself but not him. He knew you’d kept tight lipped for too long and now the second you were given real opportunity you were going to come for him with all you had. “You know who told me?” He doesn’t respond. It wasn’t necessarily rhetorical, but you knew he knew and there was no point in adding more fuel to the fire in confirming it. “Mike. Not you, not Robin, not Nancy not even blabbermouth Dustin, fucking Mike!” Your hands slam down against the seat so hard it made your palms sting. He winced as you did it. Even if he didn’t see it. He heard it. He’d kiss your delicate skin better if he wouldn’t get slapped for even trying to. Wow, that wasn’t very platonic of him.

“I was going to tell you.” He was. He really was, he just didn’t know when, hadn’t found the words. A pathetic excuse, he was well aware. He was stupid, he knew that everybody knew it. “What? When you were already halfway across the globe? You’re leaving in 2 weeks Steve.” You sounded so wounded, and you recognised it, and you hated it. He couldn’t have felt more stupid if he’d tried. “I just don’t understand.” He dared to look at you in the mirror. You appeared just as crushed as you sounded and to make matters worse, you were looking right at him. You weren’t glancing into the mirror like a coward. You weren’t like him. You were looking directly at his poorly positioned, hunched over body sinking into the leather seating of his car further and further as each second passed.

“Did you just think I’d see a billboard and be like yeah cool, amazing, so glad you’re touring again, congratulations.” He wants to speak but no words come out. There wasn’t a way to apologise for this, not when he’d fucked up so badly, not when he’d ruined everything. “I would have been happy for you Stevie.” His heart was aching in a way he’d never felt before, come close to but never quite endured. The nickname had sent him over the cliff he was afraid he’d been back stepping onto. One more wrong move and he was done for.

“I’m coming back there.” Before you could protest, he was pulling the keys and burying them in his pocket. The best plan for him was none at all. The door was opening and closing, and he was slamming another behind him, sliding into the backseat. You stare ahead of you. Your heartbeat so loud you both heard it. He locked the doors again and you laughed. He’d actually disliked the sound for the first time in his life. “I’m not going anywhere. You made sure of that. I don’t even know where we are.” You run your fingers through your hair. He doesn’t look at you like he wants to. He looks forward. You’re both staring at the seats in front of you. You wished you were in complete darkness; it may make this easier to live through. Unfortunately for the both of you, you were parked conveniently next to a streetlight.

“I couldn’t find the words.” He says, he wanted to be as transparent as he could. “I wanted to find them, I couldn’t. Like every time I tried to tell you, they just got jumbled up like some kind of word vomit or something.” He pulls a disgusted face as he says the word ‘vomit,’ he’d never liked that word. “You’re a lyricist. I find that hard to believe.” You cross your arms over your chest. A weak argument. “You don’t have to be so hard on me.” He’s right, you don’t, and you might feel a shed of remorse for it, but you wouldn’t drop it. “I’ve been beating myself up all night you know.”

You allow yourself to look at him. His stomach twists when your eyes land on him. His body is flooded with a warmth he could only compare to the sun. A blistering but comforting heat that reminded him of where he came from, where he was most at home. “I didn’t actually want to face the fact that I was leaving.” He starts to fiddle with the tear in his jeans. He wasn’t sure where the rip came from, he’d grown out of intentionally ripped jeans long ago, but the threads were tactile and useful to him now, soothing him as he worked through his emotions. Since he had no choice but to do so.

“It’s what you do.” Your voice is so soft, he wants to lean in and let you surround him with it. “But I haven’t done it, not for 2 years.” He laughs nervously. He’s not sure how the conversation morphed into his anxieties for the future but here he was. “Hell, I barely remember how I did it before.” He’s running his fingers through his thick brown, perfect hair, and you’re biting your bottom lip at the thought of replacing them with your own. Hard to stay mad when you lose your focus at the sight of anything he does. “You really are scared.” He would feel relaxed at your compassion returning but he doesn’t know how long it will last. “Terrified more like.” He reaches forward to prod the headrest before him. There’s no reason for it other than impulse and he tended to act on those a lot.

“I could have helped.” He sighs, sinking into his seat, slouching in the way he always did and probably shouldn’t, he’d connected those dots already. “I know.” You don’t push it, sitting quietly, maybe even patiently. “I know and that’s why I’m so stupid.” You’d never correct him there. “You’d have supported me no matter what because you’re a good fucking friend and I’m just a coward who doesn’t deserve it.” You roll your eyes as he hits his head repeatedly off the back of his seat. “Cut the pity party.” He gulps. He almost gives into temptation, glancing to the right of him as you command his silence. He settles for leaning his head back instead.

He couldn’t have looked more inviting if he tried. His neck outstretched like that. His adam’s apple prominently bobbing as he took a breath and gulp of air. Veins in neck pulsing invitingly. The way he wet his bottom lip with the nerves he felt. The top on him so tight you’d question his circulation with the delicious way it hugged his bicep. When did he start dressing sluttier than you? You wanted to bite his neck; you wanted to forget all of this and wrap your lips around his jugular and never let go. You’re not even sure what you were fighting for anymore. “Sorry.” Even if you knew it wasn’t meant as his formal apology, you had known that he meant it. He would never not be sorry for this. You were the last person he wanted to hurt.

“I am a good friend.” You say. He would laugh if he could. He doubts he’d ever feel joy again until you forgave him. He was still picking away at his jeans looking all pathetic like a kicked puppy. “I am happy for you.” You were, somewhere in the pits of your soul you were, somewhere very far and unobtainable at this moment in time but it was there. “I miss you already.” He says in a low whisper and that’s enough to crack your hard exterior just like the rasp in his voice had. “You what?” You hadn’t heard him right. You couldn’t have. His voice was too husky to be understood; you’d bet money on it. “I-“

He turns his body around, knees trying to face you, as much as they could in the cramped space he’d forced himself into. You didn’t look at him. He was starting to take it personally. “Would you just look at me?” Its making it much harder for him to grovel without your eyes giving him a chance. He wants to reach out and touch the hand you left on your thigh, but he thinks better of it, couldn’t step in too soon. “I can’t,” you mutter, you’re avoiding his gaze even more now that he’d asked for it. You were just trying to make sense of it all. You’re acting ridiculous and you’re acutely aware of it but you’re processing. “Can’t or won’t?” Where had he robbed these few braincells from? You didn’t like it; he wasn’t supposed to be this perceptive, that was never his game. “Both.” You grunt.

“Can’t keep doing this.” He says. You’re not sure what exactly he’s referring to, but you feel him burning the words into the side of your face like he’s branding you with a hot iron. “Doing what?” You’re suddenly breathless and this tiny car had felt a whole lot smaller, closing in on you. You had to fan yourself with your hand to satiate the heat. The more you focused the more you noticed how his long legs had barely fit a gap between the two of you, it was only a matter of time before you were crushed together.

“I don’t know- I don’t want to say it.” He bites back the words he so keenly wishes to utter. “You don’t or wont?” You turn his words back on him without so much as a second glance. Your pulse rockets as you do. “Both.” He says, his body is shifting still. He’s moving closer. Not quite beside you but getting there. It wouldn’t be long. He doesn’t want to cross your boundaries; he’s had better ideas than to mess with them, but they were just there. The temptation was overwhelming. He starts to slip back where he was, his knees digging into the back of the driver’s seat thinking better of it. He was a coward, and he didn’t need to look at you to know you thought it too. He’d returned to his original position and your heart ached at the distance.

Even when he was on a different continent, he’d never felt further from you than he did in this moment. What’s worse was that you saw him retreating, not just physically but mentally. He was sat debating whether to leave you not just on tour but for good. When his nails dug into his own thighs, his breathing deepening into exhausted sighs. The wheels were turning with no signs of breaking. He’d gone from suffocatingly close to a million miles away and he hadn’t even moved. It’s just what it felt like when he closed himself off like that. You didn’t like it. He didn’t have to. You were scared he felt he needed to. You were mad, you were so mad, but not even because you of what he did anymore, but because of what he wouldn’t do, what he continued not to do. There wasn’t enough honesty between you. You needed some truth. You may have to force it from him, but it was far less unsettling to picture than the thought of him leaving without the air cleared between you.

So, you did the unthinkable. You clambered onto his lap in a way you never had before; sober or otherwise. Your legs fastened on either side of his thighs. Your head bumps the ceiling briefly, not enough to knock you off track but enough to hurt. You’re well aware of the clumsiness of your actions and the inelegance of jumping someone’s bones. Not to mention the wardrobe malfunctions that ensue. Your skintight skirt flipping up, essentially exposing your underwear in the process. Even hidden under dark tights the risk of him seeing them made a hot flush creep across your stomach.

You had made it now. You sat in his lap, and you made him see you, you begged him to see you and he saw you all right. His mind raced. He didn’t know where to look or what to say. He was going a million miles a minute. The possibilities, he was lost in them, what could have been, the what ifs and even the why on earths. His trousers were already tightening. Just another thing to worry about. If he hadn’t upset you enough before, an inappropriately timed boner might as well do the trick.

You wonder where to put your hands. The internal battle chipping away at you piece by piece. You’re hovering over his lap, too petrified to sit your full weight on top of him even if it pained you not to. If you didn’t clutch some support you’d be aching for days. It was as if he saw a thought bubble appear above your head. He wearily placed his hands on your legs to push you down and make you sit. His eyes were transfixed on his hands. He’d moved them with no communication to the rest of his body. He’d not spent a second thinking about touching you and yet, he had.

He shouldn’t have looked down at his hands. He had the thought now, the regret in his choice of actions, the placement of them. He knew how your skirt had betrayed you, lifting to show him more of you than he’d ever dreamed of. He knew that if he just looked even a millimetre to the side, he’d see the cotton of your underwear concealing you away from him beneath your tights. He felt every bone in his body screaming at him to move, he wasn’t quite sure which direction yelled louder. To look or not to look? He wanted to look. He’d ruined himself.

You took this opportunity to look at him. You analysed his expression while he avoided your gaze. How had you been so stupid? To be blind to him. You watched his every move and waited on his every word with bated breath and yet you just hadn’t seen it. You hadn’t seen how hard he fought with himself every day. How he’d never really looked you in the eyes before because there was such a deep secret locked away inside of them. It was almost like this was your first time seeing him properly. You’d never seen him so clearly in fact. His little freckles and moles dotted around his nose, his cheeks, his neck. He was quite ethereal. A bone structure a model would die for. Sweet hazel eyes so clear you felt cleansed just being seen by them. His smile lines sinking into the corners of his mouth and his lips, oh his lips. Pink and plump and glossy and so kissable. There was something kind of magic about the way he looked in the dim light and it drew you in enough to leave not even a little bit of space between you.

You kissed him. You leaned in quickly, too quickly to catch yourself, not sure if you even would have wanted to. It was too late to prevent it now anyway. The wheels were fully in motion and like a freight train, there was no stopping you. Your lips had reached his and you had felt your body surging to life.

Steve Harrington’s lips were the sweetest you’d ever kissed. Soft and pillowy, warm, and gentle. He even had a mild, sweet taste. Cherry lip balm.

He can’t move. He can’t breathe. He can’t- well he doesn’t know what he can’t do, he just can’t do it. You’re kissing him. You’re sat on his lap; his hands are on your thighs and- his hands are on your thighs. He needs to move his hands. He lifts them and he’s thanking God inside his head for giving him the strength to do it even if it pained him to leave the safe space they’d been left to rest in. You’re panicking. He’s not kissing you back, he’s not doing a damn thing. He moved his hands away and you expect them to push you back at any moment, but that moment never arrives. He needed to kiss you back. Your lips felt so nice, so soft, supple, and shit- he needs to kiss you back!

His body was on autopilot, kicking into gear. It was better than nothing. It was way better than nothing. He instinctively leans forward; you’re so scared to fall backwards that your hands are gripping onto his shoulders for dear life. Maybe it’s to secure the kiss, maybe it’s because you need him closer, either way you’re elated, you’re not the only one involved any longer. He’s still leaning, he’s pushing forward, your back is pushed into the seat behind, his hands are floating around to your back and then-. They land. They’re overlapping each other near the base of your spine and tugging you inwards away from the seat. He’s pulling you in close, into his atmosphere. His car was becoming suffocatingly tiny, and you hadn’t even minded it anymore because you weren’t trapped alone, you were trapped with him, him, him. The air was thick with fear and lust, but it was invigorating. It smelt like him. It felt like him. Fuck it was him, all him.

“Oh God Steve why haven’t we kissed before?” You’re gasping for a breath between kisses, and you can’t help yourself. You take the words right out of his mouth. You can’t stay away. You kiss him so much he can’t get a word in. It was almost as if you’d only just discovered it. You’d experienced the pleasure of kissing for the very first time and you needed all the practice you could get before it’s taken away from you again. He’s just as invested as you are. Your lips are so sweet he wants the taste imbedded into his brain and he suspects it would be from here on out. Your scent, your taste, he’s not the best at describing things but you remind him of the air after rain. Fresh and earthy. Floral and saccharine, a conforming aroma he wanted to bottle and keep to himself forever.

He’s not breathing anymore. He’s not taken a single breath out of fear the oxygen would somehow wake him from this dream he had to be having. But you’re pulling away because he hasn’t said anything and it’s starting to dawn on you just what you’d done. You think you’re going crazy. He kissed you back, sure, but that didn’t mean anything, he took his time, it wasn’t instant. It wasn’t confirmation. It didn’t mean he meant to. He just did what anyone would do, act on impulse. You think you’re shaking with fear. You meet his eyes with nothing but anxiety in your heart. You’d kissed him like you meant it. Did he?

His glasses are so foggy you can’t even see his eyes anymore. It was undecided if that was an advantage or not. On the one hand you wouldn’t see the shock or horror. On the other, you couldn’t see if he felt the opposite. If he looked at you like you were the piece he’d been missing all these years. You don’t even know if he’s looking at you or not. He’s facing you but is he seeing you?

His hands slip from around you and you hold back the whimper of disappointment. You needed to keep your expectations to a minimum. His hands tug his glasses away from his face before he looks down, attempting to clean them with the bottom of his shirt. You bite your lip so hard you fear it may burst at the slight exposure of his happy trail beneath. Sure, you could faintly see it every time he’d lifted his arms that night, but seeing it here was something that had you fighting for your life and begging your legs not to squeeze together. You heard nothing but the pounding of hearts and the occasional car whizzing by on the quiet road as you processed the previous events.

“Stevie.” His eyes lift to meet yours and they’re filled with a kindness that is so compelling you might just make it out of here alive. He notices that your pupils are dilated to an extent that he could have mistaken them for black. He’d never seen you like that before. Your cheeks, they’re so round, darkened with a blush. Your lips, so beautifully shaped, swollen from his own. Your cupid’s bow so prominent and alluring, you were so naturally pretty, he’d always known it but seeing it this close, after kissing you, breath-taking. He can’t believe he’s never been this close to you before. That was a crying shame. A monumental mistake on his part. Even if he wouldn’t have been able to control himself. He would certainly have remembered it though, memorised every feature of your face like the lyrics to a song he must sing and be happy to for the rest of his days on this earth with you.

He sets his glasses in your lap and your stomach flutters as you feel the weight of them. They weren’t heavy in the slightest but the sensation, the reminder of just where you were situated. You were still in his lap, still in his orbit. It was dizzying. “You look really pretty.” You let slip, one glance into his eyes and your mouth ran without thought. His lips turn up in one corner. “You think I’m pretty?” He’s laughing at it but it’s the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. Deep down, it’s probably the nicest compliment you could have given him. You thought he was pretty and even better than that, you liked that he was pretty. “With glasses,” you gesture to your lap. “Even prettier.” It takes an incredible strength not to let it be known that he loved hearing you say that.

You try something different. You have only one chance at this. You owed it to yourself to explore the unanswered questions you’d been stacking up in your brain for the entirety of your friendship. One’s you hadn’t dared to speak into existence and thought better of verbalising even now. Instead, you answer with a touch. You place your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck. When his hair reached a certain length, it curled there, and while you fumble to grip them in a light tug, your nails graze his scalp. He whimpers beneath you elegantly before snapping his mouth shut, a flush of red blotting his cheeks as a result. Fuck. He’d always had the prettiest voice, but you weren’t even remotely aware that it was melodical even in this situation. “Did you just-“he wants to hide, he wants his hands to cover his face, and he goes to fulfil that want, but you stop him.

He's looking at you and he hasn’t felt this vulnerable in a long time. You didn’t have many secrets. You knew almost everything about each other but this. Knowing his kiss, knowing his sounds. This was an unexplored territory. Continuing forward at this trajectory could have the most fatal consequences for the two of you and your ongoing relations. You’re so painfully aware of that but you still tug his hair back hard in efforts to hear him again. “Fuck.” He gasps, his pink lips slotting open not even trying to save himself the embarrassment, he was already exposed, may as well accept it.

You had to kiss him again, had to kiss him and pull his hair and feel his little bitch boy whimpers on your lips or you may die. You throw yourself at him with nothing more to lose. His hands wrap around you so tightly you knew he’d struggle to let you go and there wasn’t a chance in hell that you’d ever allow him to if he tried. You tug on his brown locks, and you kiss him and he’s grunting into your mouth like a desperate slut. Suddenly the events of the night were long forgotten because you’d both just discovered your new favourite hobby. Each other.

His tongue slides inside your mouth, granting itself permission. You weren’t the only one wanting to take charge and the idea of fighting for it turned you on more than it should have. His one hand leaves your waist to cup your cheek while he pushes his face right into yours. His precious little nose digging into your cheek as his mouth is enjoying you, savouring you.

‘You’ by definition as declared by Steve Harrington.

pronoun

1. Used to refer to the person or people that the speaker is addressing.

"Are you listening?"

2. Used to refer to any person in general.

"After a while, you get used to it."

3. Used as a treat for him to devour, tasting better than any gourmet, expensive delicacy he’d ever had the pleasure of trying.

"He loves you; he loves your taste; he loves you."

Your kiss was replaying in his mind before it even ended. It was hung in a museum full of his greatest achievements. He’d be visiting the archive on numerous occasions just to relive this feeling, whether you developed from here or not didn’t even matter anymore he was in it 100% for as long as it lasts. “Steve, I think I love-“ He stops dead in his tracks as your words fill the silence. His eyes are not nearly as panicked as they should have been, unlike yours. “I love kissing you,” you finish, your breath shaky as you catch yourself before confessing to something far too soon, even if you’d felt it with every fibre of your being since you met him.

“Yeah?” He’s so drunk on your lips he can’t possibly think straight let alone filter his words to have more caution in them. In the short pause he’s watching you expectantly. His doe eyes blown wide, staring up at you all besotted and pathetic. That tight lipped, goofy smile plastered across his face. “Love kissing me or love me?” It’s not for you to confess your love. It’s not even for you to reject him. It’s just to hear your voice and know he’s not alone like he fears he might be. “Both.” You breathe out. The relief washed over you both like a tidal wave.

You can’t keep away any longer. You’d be damned if you let there be any more silence without it being a result of locking lips. “Have to have you.” He groans. Might as well jump in at the deep end now. Your hands are sinking down between you. Your brain is foggy. There’s an unmistakably lusty cloud over your head. You felt as if you’d been hit by cupid’s arrow, infatuated to such an intensity that you were unable to process any information that wasn’t related to your love for the man beneath you. Whatever sick love spell it was, you were grateful for it. It had given you the courage to act on your true feelings and there was no way you were turning back now unless he asked it of you, and he swears he would never dream of such an outcome.

He wants to cry when your fingers brush his stomach. His tummy flips at the coolness of your fingertips delicately toying with the material resting above it. You lift it slowly, your hands deliberately feeling along his torso as the shirt rode higher. His coarse hair beneath his belly button, leading all the way down between his thighs. It built a heat between your own. He wants to tear it off, he’d even burn it just to prove how little he needed it and how much he needed you instead. You bite on your lower lip at his eagerness to remove it. “Take it off.” You say. He’s way ahead of you. In a flash he’s throwing it to the front of the car. A problem for him to deal with at a later date.

Steve exposed in this way wasn’t something new to you. You’d seen him shirtless. You’d touched him shirtless. The only benefits of living in a ridiculously sunny state during summer, were the opportunities to lounge by the beach or the pool. To witness the tightened torso of your best friend with a pair of sunglasses shielding him from knowing just how much you were checking him out and by god, had you checked him out. He’d used to shave the hair on his chest for years, then one summer he just let it grow out and you had never seen anyone more manly. Or maybe you had, but there was a feral streak in you, wild enough to pretend no other man existed except for him. When the thick thatch of hair caught the water or god forbid sweat, you had to fight to keep your mouth closed. Prone to gawping at things, or people you wanted your mouth around. You wondered if he’d ever done the same to you, but by the way he’s staring at your chest, it’s like he’s never seen it before.

Steve had wanted to. He’d thought about it so often, mostly at night alone in his room, but still he’d thought long and hard about the way your body looked in very little clothing. He remained as respectful as he could in your presence. He didn’t let his eyes wander too far from what’s socially acceptable between friends. But he had thought about this moment for what felt like an eternity. He could never have imagined the location or the dim light painting this portrait of your silhouette, but he wouldn’t change it for the world because at long last he was here.

He's getting braver. His hands are caressing your hips, pushing upwards to rub along your sides before returning back. “Steve, please.” He’s ignoring your need. He’s playing with you how he wants to when he wants to. He’s repeating his movements at a snail’s pace. You couldn’t rush him, not after making him wait for so long, he deserved to take his time. He deserved to savour you. You’re not happy about it. You’re ready to rock over his lap and take what you need but he catches your hips. “No.” He says confidently, sternly too. Your eyes almost bulge out of your skull, a tantrum ready to slip from your tongue. “Wait for it.” As if you hadn’t been waiting for it every single day of your life since he’d stepped into it.

Fucking hell, he’s not even looking at you. It’s like you’re not even there anymore. His eyes are fixated on your chest and somehow that had increased the wetness between your legs more than you thought it would. If it were Steve objectifying you, you would make an exception. You just sank back onto his lap, running your fingers through his hair while he explored you, doing as you were told and praying he’d end your torture if you did. He never thought he’d see the day, you were being obedient, let alone being that way for him.

It's worked out better than you’d imagined. His teasing touches, they’re working you up just enough to leave you wanting more. You worry your enjoyment can be felt through the fabric of your clothing. The more he touches, the more he gets to know you. He feels it, he just doesn’t show it. Somehow that made it even hotter for you. You were embarrassingly speechless for him, and he pretended he hadn’t caused it, couldn’t possibly have known. He wasn’t completely clueless. He wasn’t all shy. He knew what he was doing. There was such a power in shutting the pretty mouth of his best friend with simple caresses. “You seemed to have a lot to say before.” He’s now fondling your breasts, pinching hard over the fabric of your blouse, not even daring to touch beneath but you didn’t even need him to. The gasp that leaves your lips makes his cock twitch and you felt it. “Where’s all that energy gone?” He doesn’t even need to smirk; you hear it in his tone, even if you were deaf, you think you’d hear it.

This time he looks at you. He watches your expressions patiently with a glimmer of enjoyment as he pinches hard, trapping your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You gasp upon the sharpness of his touch. “Steve.” He had to smile, had to let it show how unbelievably thrilled he was to be doing this to you, to hear you sighing his name because it was real, and he was living out his fantasies. “Kiss me.” He says. You’re surprised he says it. You thought he’d have just taken it by now since you were clearly putty in his hands but instead, he’d instructed you and you had to do it, and you were so eager.

You lean in to close the gap and he’s groping over your chest harder as you inch in. Your lips are parted, his tongue slipping in. The moan that escapes you sends his hips bucking upwards into you. There was some kind of a heaven between your thighs, he’s sure of it because the way it felt to just brush against your clothed cunt was already more than he could take. Every ounce of you was blissful to touch. “Oh my God.” You gasped. “No, that’s not my name.” He grumbles into your mouth. You want to roll your eyes with annoyance but they’re already rolling for a different reason. “When you touch me like that, what’s the fucking difference?” An excellent point, you think. He had to be some kind of deity.

He catches your bottom lip between his teeth, and you whimper. The bite is sharp, and it hurts but your lack of release is starting to hurt more. The build-up was fun, but not nearly enough. You had to take your shirt off, move this further. You start to unbutton it. You slip it down over your shoulders and he doesn’t help; no, he just watches you. His hazel eyes so dark like a pool of caramel in this light. One you could surely dive into. You feel a chill as your bra drops from your chest. You were equally exposed now. It suddenly felt so much more real. Seated in the backseat of his car, 2 weeks before he leaves for a tour you didn’t even know about 2 hours ago. Its sinking in, just how much this would hurt you from here on out.

“We can stop right now.” He pushes his forehead against yours. His lips hover above your own. Hot breath fanning over them. It’s not as soothing as it should have been. You’re breathing is more erratic now. His proximity, you need his lips, need his touch, no hesitation, no-. No. You need a pause. You feel as if you could cry, maybe you were crying. Things were catching up to you, hard. “It won’t be easy.” He tries to laugh. “But we can stop.” He pecks your lip. Letting his words sink in. “I don’t want to stop Stevie.” He could smile, but it didn’t seem right to, not yet, not while your mind is still restless. “Everything changes from here on, doesn’t it?” Now he’s smiling at you; his hand reaches up to cup your cheek lifting your face in his hands. “What’s to change?”

You weren’t sure exactly what he meant; somehow you felt comforted by it anyway. You silently urged him to continue. “I’ve always been in love with you.” He rubbed his thumb softly over your jaw, your face started to feel heavy in his hands as you melted into his touch, at his words. His heart wasn’t on his sleeve, no, it was being handed to you, given with a stroke to your jaw, a glimmer in his eye and a softness of words on his tongue. “The only change is that you know it.” He’s grinning as he reveals his secret, finally able to clue you in on his little plans. You could have told him then and there, just how relieved you were to feel the same, you felt it could wait. As sweet as it was, you need something less precious, he had to finish what he started or so help him you’d vanquish him.

“Take my clothes off.” He’s way ahead of you once again. He lifts your skirt, and you feel the need to correct him, tell him it needs to come off the other way around, he’s already fiddling with your tights. He’d grabbed them, the material stretching over his hands and before you could raise a brow in suspicion at the oddness, he’s tearing them, splitting the crotch for access. You were lost for words, and he was the same. The only difference was that he was silently praising himself for his strength no to look sooner. Where he thought he’d find cotton, instead he found lace. You were wearing soaking wet, lace panties. “You’re fucking kidding me.” He can’t supress his moan at all. You think you may be engulfed in flames, the only explanation for the fire burning you up inside. He. Tore. Your. Clothes. Off. LITERALLY. How can anyone ever compete?

Butterflies are swarming in your stomach as his fingers don’t hesitate to rub over your pussy. You sigh at his touch; it’s not even near your clit but you feel like you might cum. His warm, slightly rough fingertips toying with you. Your mouth hangs open, body leaning into his. Every part of you tingled and yearned. “Have I always got you this wet?” He’s surprised. He’s impressed and proud too but mostly surprised. You could laugh at his outburst, if it wouldn’t reveal just how ridiculously on point he was. “More often than I’d like to acknowledge right now.” He decides he’ll put a pin in it for another occasion because he’s absolutely certain now, there will be more occasions.

Your fingers find his hair, tugging on his roots in hopes to bring him back to the task at hand, you. “Think you can hurry this up?” You’re trying to stay cool, but you’re anything but. You don’t want to beg for it, it felt so beneath you before this moment, but he needed to pick up the pace. You didn’t want to scare him off with just how desperate you were but shit, his fingers, you needed them, you buck impatiently against them with a whimper.

He smiles, pecking little torturous kisses across your jaw toward your lips. His fingers rub over the wet material clinging to your cunt. “Would usually have to work for it.” He’s smiling against your lips uncontrollably. “Guess I don’t need to.” You want to wipe the smug look off his face, but you were already whimpering for him, you couldn’t be more obvious in your yearning. He’s looking at your lips right before crashing his own against them, distracting you from his hands slipping away beneath you.

He’s freeing himself from his jeans and you so desperately need to look but you can’t. You can’t pull away. You just kiss and kiss and he just- oh God, he’s dragging your hips over him. He’s rocking up into you, still separated by the restrictions of your underwear but you feel him. You know you asked for more, but this was really happening like right now. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Your hips start moving with the guidance of his hands. “Do something for me.” He breathes, tone too calm for your liking, when your breath hitches at every little movement of his. His lips are trailing from yours, down to the column of your throat. “Anything.” You mean it, you truly mean it, he owns every piece of your soul. You would walk through fire for him. “Put me in.” His lips graze your earlobe, and you groan, in fact it’s more like a growl from the base of your throat. You’re done for.

There’s no hesitation. You reach between you, hands blindly chasing after him. When you feel the hot, weight of him barely fitting in your hand, you want to whine. He’s so hard, burning up too. He’s hot to touch and it’s so unbearably arousing. He twitches at your slightest touch, and you’d be proud if you weren’t so needy. You work your hand over him, just gathering the beads of liquid already leaking from the tip to drag it back over him. You tug him gently from his base to his tip till he’s hissing in your ear. You focus your efforts, not wanting to hurt him, since he’s clearly so sensitive in your palm, but in order to show him you cared about his pleasure as much as your own.

He’s pushed his face right into your neck, kissing and nipping, his stubble scratching your flesh as you bring him to you. It’s so nice to feel him humming along your throat. You are ruining him just as much as he did you. Each stroke, each drag of your soft hand gliding across him. Fuck. He’s throbbing, no pulsing, in your hand. Cum spilling from his tip. “Steve.. oh, Steve I need to see you.” He pulls back from your neck, leaning his head back against the head rest, eyes closed, hips bucking into your hand.

You stare down at the pretty cock in your hands, and it was pretty. Flushed red at the tip, uncut and so big. He was thick too. Thick enough to fill your fist and then long enough to require more than just one of your hands. You’d known he’d be big. Maybe assumed, but rightfully so. You’d couldn’t help thinking about it. Sometimes he just wore these tight jeans that hugged him exactly right and there was really nothing you could do but look, especially when his bulge was just so fucking prominent sometimes. Fuck, you were just a girl. A girl with feelings and hormones and a raging crush on the most perfect man.

Your breath hitched as you slide your underwear to the side. Your heart hammered as his tip brushed your entrance. Steve’s cock throbbed as its sank inside you. It’s barely inside and you feel so snug around him. His width a factor but also you, the way you clenched, just so He bites down hard on your neck as you take more but not nearly enough. You can’t think of anything but the fullness. You wonder if he’d fit inside you fully, scared he might not be able to go further, that you couldn’t possibly cater to his size but then he wiggles his hips, careful not to hurt you but he’s still forcing himself deeper inside.

You gasp out as you stretch for him, gripping the leather of the seat behind him. “So, fucking tight.” You were so wet he felt you dripping onto his thighs and yet you squeezed him so tight it was like you weren’t ready at all. “Is it too much?” It was so hard to speak when you held him like that, but something wasn’t right. He needed you to feel good. It wasn’t worth it otherwise, meant too much to fuck it up like this. Your biology could not be the only fucking reason this didn’t work.

You’re nodding your head in response, entirely against your will. You’d failed him. You finally got to take it to the next level, and you can’t even take him. You were mortified. You were disappointed. You were devastated. You’re ready to give up, accept this as the mistake it must be, he doesn’t share the same sentiment. “Gonna try something different, okay?” He’s bringing your eyes to meet his. There was a look of adoration there but also of determination.

If it were anyone else, you’d have been discarded like dirty laundry. You’d be no fit for use. Not worth the effort. But Steve? Steve wasn’t giving up on you. He’d try a thousand times to get it right if that’s what it took to please you, to give himself to you the best way he could. You had never felt so loved in your life.

His cock can’t help but twitch when he sees your panic. “Trust me?” You nod profusely, it wasn’t necessary, but you were so close to losing it you couldn’t be stopped. “Think you can lie down for me?” You nod again. It takes all of your combined energy to pull away from each other. It feels like you’d lost a piece of yourself when you moved away. When he slipped out of you. You’d collided and now been torn apart prematurely and the part of you that finally felt whole, was empty again.

You slipped off his lap, seating yourself back where you’d started. Steve’s shuffling around, removing his jeans completely before moving over, pulling your legs apart for him to slip between. You curse yourself once more for missing out on witnessing him naked for you, but your mind was racing with other information. He hadn’t warned you before his cock pushed past the threshold of your entrance. Instead, he eased himself in. Your cunt instinctively squeezing him at the intrusion.

“Oh, fuck.” He cried when he slid inside, his full length near splitting you open. This angle was better, he’d fit, he’d not struggled and yet, you’d never felt so full. He watched your expression, your eyes sealed shut, lips parted, cheeks burning. He watched you until you showed any signs of regret or pleasure, even relief. He would stop immediately if you needed it. You just whimpered and moaned, and it was filth to his ears. His cock was so painfully hard he couldn’t hold back any longer. He did that to you; he didn’t even have to move either. He’d got you looking fucked out, crying for him and he’d barely started.

“Can I move?” He’s trying to keep his tone calm but he’s breathless. “Please baby, I gotta move.” His thighs are shaking. He’s gripping the seats like his life depended on it and it probably did. Your heart is warmed at the fact he’d asked. It shouldn’t feel anything of the sort with him so fucking deep inside you, ready to fuck you into oblivion but you did, he was so perfect. You nod your head, leaning up to capture his lips in a kiss. “Fuck me.” Please, please, please, you thought. “Give it to me.”

He kisses you back, retracting his hips simultaneously before dipping back in, both of you falling apart. “So, fucking beautiful.” He mutters. “Fucking your best friend.” It felt so dirty hearing it from him like that. But that is exactly what you were doing. Your hands are reached up around his waist, clawing into his back when he ruts deeper, the car starting to rock with each movement of his hips. “So deep in you.” Was he for fucking real? You choke after a particularly harsh thrust. “So good.” You’re stuttering it. Hearing your broken panting is nearly enough to send him over the edge.

He didn’t rock his hips quickly this time, not wanting to overdo it, to break you so soon. Instead, he slows himself. He’s grinding his hips down into you with a precision you’d never known before. “All you can say?” He teased. “You’re lucky you feel so good.” You warn him. “If I could think straight, you’d be done for.” He nips at your shoulder before layering it with kisses. “Is that so?” You whimper when his body lowers over yours. His body is no longer held up above put pressed into you. The new position providing more stimulation than the last. The closeness had his pelvis rocking into your clit. The extra stimulation leaving your cunt clenching and tingling, bursting with pleasure.

“Fuck, feel you tightening.” He’s starting to speak but quickly losing his train of thought at your body’s natural response to him. He’s wincing like it hurts him when you squeeze. In reality he’s just holding onto his load by a thread, ready to bust at the seams. He didn’t think he’d be able to pull out if he did. You probably should have thought of that sooner. He couldn’t exactly ask now. He should though. He should be sensible, should be responsible. Though the idea of knocking you up was not the horror story it should have been.

“Need it.” Your sweet whining brings him back. “What?” He’s losing himself in your eyes. Dark, lust filled and reading him like a book. “Need you to cum inside.” He’s gripping the seats so tight the material is about to tear. Just when he’d worried he’d made a fatal error you swoop in and save him. You wanted him inside. He didn’t have to move, he wanted so badly to stay, and you let him as if you knew. You knew how fucking feral he’d go hearing it dripping from your lips like that, a sultry dream. He needed this, needs to cum, needs you to feel it, everything he’s got, and he’s got plenty.

He picked up his pace, abandoning his previous rhythm. He was going to pound into you so hard you’d be begging him to be the only man in your life for eternity. He would give it to so good you never had to wonder where your loyalties may lie. You were going to be his and no one else’s if it killed him. No one could ever fuck you like he could. “Fuck, tell me you’re mine.” You feel startled by the request. Not because it’s out of the ordinary but because you thought he’d have to be mad not to know it already. Not when the request alone had you cumming around him the moment the words touched your ears.

You felt it so hard, it was a wonder you hadn’t blacked out. Your walls a tightening mess, thighs wrapped around Steve’s waist so tight you couldn’t feel the shake in them, stabilised by his frame. Oh, you felt it in your core though. Holy shit, you’d not cum so hard for so long. He hadn’t even realised you’d done it at all. It felt so unreal that you’d even doubted it yourself. Finishing from a sentence, from fucking without the aid of touching yourself, simply unheard of. Maybe you really were his.

“I’m yours, all yours.” It had never been truer. His eyes close as he lets the words float around in his brain over and over. “Yeah? All mine? Belong to me?” You don’t think you could ever profess it enough. You instead move your hands, wrapping them around his neck, bringing his chest down into yours. You lift your head from the seat, your lips coming to his ear as he slows himself, meeting you halfway. You’re whispers send him right over the edge, tumbling towards his demise. He’s grunting, spilling inside you, hips slowly grinding before coming to a halt. He’s muttering sweet sentiments. “You’re so pretty. So good, fuck baby.” His head is spinning. He’s so blissed out he felt like he wasn’t even with you, he was on a whole other plain. You’d taken him to heaven; you’d actually killed him. What a pleasure it was to be killed by you.

He’s trying to hold himself up, arms on either side of your head. He’s not looking at you, more your bodies still entangled. He looked so conflicted. You try not to imagine the worst. He can’t regret you already. You’d only just ended. Usually, it took some time. He at least should drop you home before that kind of clarity kicks in. Your heart picks up speed again. A panic starting to drip a sweat over your brow. You don’t want this to end like that; it couldn’t end like that.

“Stop that.” He places a singular kiss to the tip of your nose and the thoughts are erased. “I can practically hear your thoughts” He kisses you again so nonchalantly. “I’m just thinking about moving.” You try not to sigh so loud with relief, but you fail miserably and he’s laughing because it’s so effortlessly you. “Probably should have planned that better.” He’s scolding himself and his tone is light and airy, and you don’t feel so scared anymore. He was right before when he said nothing would change. The only difference was the physicality.

“Why couldn’t you be shorter? We could have lay here for a while.” He’s glad to hear your laughter returning even if it is at his expense. He’d take your worst after you gave him every piece of you like that. “In my defence, I’ve never done it in a car before, I’m sure there’s a way of doin it, I just don’t know it.” Your eyes widened in surprise. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He’s furrowing his brows above you. “I thought this was exactly the location rebounding Steve would be going for.” You refer to that dark period in his life where he’d had his heart shattered enough to make him take a date with anyone who’d asked him. When he’d made his way through half the beautiful girls in town and you’d just watched it all happen, unfurling like some kind of natural disaster you couldn’t stop. He gasps in offence. “Sorry to disappoint, it’s all beds for me.” You don’t believe him for a second. He’d had some messy eras. You reckon he just forgot them or tried his hardest to.

“Why have you?” You smirk. “Might have.” There’s that gasp again before a moment of confusion. “Wait, you don’t have a car.” He needed to investigate further. “Correct.” He’s thinking. “Matt didn’t have a car either.” Of course, only he would mention your only ex immediately after your first time together. Very on brand for him. “Did you fuck in my car?” You struggle to contain your laughter. “No! What the fuck?” You shoved him, harder than you’d intended to but he didn’t mind it. It didn’t hurt and quite frankly, he was simply happy to be touched. “Thank God, that would have been awkward.” You snorted. “More awkward than this sorry excuse for pillow talk?” He pecked your nose for the last time before beaming an infectious smile down at you, one that would make your panties drop, if you were wearing any.

“Not to ruin the moment or anything but uh, will you drive me home now?” He’s suddenly reminded of the purpose of this entire event. He was apologising and giving you a lift home. “That’s why we fucked then, just wanted that trip.” You nodded along with him. “Mmhmm, didn’t bring my purse, gotta pay my way somehow.” He rolled his eyes. He’s amazed by you. You manage to make his heart pound and dick throb all from making jokes with him still buried inside you. “You fuck all your taxi drivers?” You shrugged the best you can beneath him, whole body jolting a little, reminding both of you of your predicament. He was very much still inside you. “Only the hot ones.”

It takes you both a little time to redress yourselves. The moment he pulls out you’re sighing and missing the feeling of him there. He was just as devastated to leave you empty, the sight of his finish leaking from you certainly made up for the fact though. You don’t miss your opportunity to check him out this time. Seeing his cock in your hand was lovely, seeing his entire naked body, shit. His shoulders were so broad and so freckled. Moles were splattered across every inch of him as if god had sat and flicked a paint brush against his skin for hours on end to correct each placement. He was so tan too, even when it wasn’t particularly hot out, he maintained the soft glow. He was a work of art in every manner of the word. “You’re so pretty, you know that?” He’s knelt in front of you stark naked and yet it’s your words that bring him to blushing. “You might have mentioned it.”

Once he’s dressed his bottom half, he moved to help you. He’d gathered as many items of clothing as he could, your shirt and your vest, your bra was certainly gone forever and even if he found it, he would not be returning it. Finders keepers. You sit up straight, bottom half not moving for the risk of making a larger mess than you already had. His cum very much still leaking between your thighs. You were thankful the seats were leather. You both ignore the elephant in the room, well vehicle, for as long as possible before eventually addressing it, looking to the pool of his cum on the seat. “How bout we get these off?” He tugs your shredded tights. “Can use them as a, um, temporary fix.” He cringed as he said it. He needed to grow up. It was a very sensible idea despite the uncomfortable subject. You work to remove them, cleaning the best you can. “Think you’ll sit in the front seat this time?” You pondered it. “I don’t know about that one.”

You find yourself in the passenger seat just minutes after he asked. Which surprised neither one of you. He was sat shirtless beside you, even though he’d located his shirt. You’d begged him not to cover himself back up. He’d obliged. His glasses are once again sitting pretty on the bridge of his nose. You can’t help but admire the marks you’d gifted him. You welcomed the eye candy with open arms. His hand reached to rest on your bare thigh every now and then. Each touch a bolt of lightning to your senses. You wondered if that would ever fade.

You were almost distracted enough not to notice he’d made another diversion to your journey. “Thought you were taking me home.” You stared at him like he was crazy, maybe it was you who was the crazy one, too fucked out to see straight. You wouldn’t put it past yourself. “I am.” He didn’t seem phased by your inquiry. That concerned you more. “This isn’t the route to my house babe.” You were certain of it. You drop the babe in for sass, but he quite liked the sound of it anyway. “No, I said I’d drive you home.” He turned to smile at your puzzled expression, lips ready to part with an argument before he cuts you right off. “Never said I meant your home.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfiction

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gloomunson · 6 months ago

Text

The Set Up

Yeah, took me 11 months to post again, mind your business.

Smut bc of course it is. You and Eddie get set up on a blind date.

Word Count: 9847

You’d only really been told a few minor details about your date this evening.

He’s tall.

He’s loyal.

He’s easy-going.

He’s a lead singer in a band.

He’s tall.

Unsurprisingly, you were desperate enough to accept the date regardless of the brief description. He’d certainly matched some of it this far. He was tall all right. Towered over you in the brief moment he walked over to the table you’d already been seated at near the bar. He was pretty too. He was prettier than a bride on her wedding day. His lashes long and fluttering, lips full and glossy, eyelids glimmering with what looked like the remnants of eyeshadow that he must have second guessed and wiped off before he arrived. He had the hair of a rockstar, long, dirty, curly, windswept and effortlessly styled, though it must have taken him years of practice in his bathroom mirror to achieve that look, you were thankful he’d taken the time.

A few decent looking guys rolled through the bar during your wait. Some tall, some short, some certainly rockstar adjacent, none of them would quite have made the same impact as he had. But at least they’d arrived more closely to the meeting time set. He arrived 36 minutes late. You tend to be pedantic like that when you’re anxious. You thought about going home. You thought about drinking alone. You thought about chatting to one of the other guys lingering around too, but then he arrived.

He arrived strolling in like he owned the place, and you’d forgiven him at first. The leather jacket and the ring clad fingers taking away some of the pain of both his lateness and then the initial first date awkwardness. The apology wasn’t half bad either, he looked genuinely embarrassed and he looked at you with those wet brown eyes if his, the slightest glimmer of glitter at his lash line and you’d somewhat succumb to his efforts. But 30 more minutes into it with a maximum of 8 sentences said between the two of you, you couldn’t fucking fathom how this man had lead a band or gotten anywhere so far in life. He had nothing to say. He had the personality of a plank of wood. If the cocktails didn’t kick in soon, it was a wasted journey. You were rooting for him too.

You’d been trying. Small talk was exhausting but you’d at least attempted to cover the bases. You knew he was late because he got the train tonight. That he’d somehow at 28 years old never gotten one before. That he didn’t quite understand the correct platforms, scrambling and missing the first train of his. That he should have looked it up beforehand. The only reason tonight was the night he lost his public transport virginity was because his friends had warned him to leave his ‘shitty’ van at home. You guessed that meant he either had poor taste in vehicles or poor hygiene in the maintenance of one. Perhaps even both which was also pretty dire and preventative of things escalating between you.

You also knew that he’d admittedly not been on a ‘real date’ for quite some time. Probably because in peak musician fashion, he’d tended to have more flings and hook ups either before, after or hell, maybe even during a show. You’d also spotted the giant hickey on his neck to further assist that theory, not so much the location but confirmation that he’d not been one to shy away from casual sex, neither should he. But it was quite amusing that he’d attempted to conceal it for the sake of this date. Unfortunately for him, the shade was warmer than his skin tone, you’d spotted it pretty early on. He’d also nervously rubbed off a large portion of it. It’s a wonder he’d bothered to hide it and go on a date at all, he clearly didn’t need the set up.

The only saving grace during the awkward silences was the tapping of his fingers against the sticky high table. His hands were pretty. Fingers long and slender, precisely beating a rhythm into the wood that had so thoroughly not been deserving of it. His pale skin almost translucent enough that the bluey green veins pumping and pulsing beneath his skin were practically begging for your attention and they’d caught it. If there was nothing else coming from tonight, you at least needed to consider the attention those digits could provide in the backseat of your car that you actually had bought with you. Shit. Maybe that was the rockstars effect right there. Those damn fingers.

Suddenly the motion had ceased, his fingers retreating from the table, instead wiggling around in the air in a peculiar manor. He’d caught you. “My eyes are up here sweetheart.” You followed his fingers all the way up to the upturned smirk on his lips. He gestured to it so helpfully with his index finger too. “So, they are.” You remain calm, cold even. As if you’d not been caught drooling over him. “Must have gotten lost searching for a reason to continue this date.” He gulps, his Adam’s apple fighting for its life. He withdraws his hands, sinking them under the table to rub the nervous sweat off his palms onto his jeans instead. “That bad?”

He’s not surprised that you thought it. It was abysmal. Through no fault of your own, it was all on him. But the fact you’d had the balls to say it out loud. Though truth be told, you weren’t actually intending to. He was both aroused and mortified and it wasn’t an entirely new sensation to him. You were so far out of his league you may as well have been on another continent, planet even. He was painfully aware he had nothing about him to keep a woman like you interested. You were bubbly and smart. You were pretty. The kind of pretty that makes him want to throw himself over a puddle in the street so that you might walk all over him instead of dirtying your shoes on the ground, fuck a jacket, like in the old movies, you deserved better than a jacket. He’d tried to come up with compliments, stories, anything about his life that could be considered interesting or mildly intelligent, he came up with nothing.

He started tapping the second he broke into the library of previous conversations with his friends, hoping to steal an anecdote of theirs that he could pass as his own instead. He’d set the bar for himself so low that literally anything would have done, would have filled the gap in conversation. Like that one time his friend Jeff fell right off the stage during a set. Or that other time when the same friend Jeff got hit with pyrotechnics accidentally. He was far too slow, and you were far too lovely for him to look at. There was no chance of him successfully escaping into his own head to pluck that material out in a timely fashion when he could get lost in your glare instead. He just wanted to be in the moment with you, romantic in his head but was the romance in the room with them at the dingy bar they’d somehow both found themselves in? No, he didn’t suppose it was. He was completely fucking this up.

“It’s not great.” You admitted. You probably could have been kinder. Okay, you definitely could have been kinder, but you were so fed up with dates heading south, may as well speed up the process. He suddenly perks up. “Do you smoke?” You furrowed your brow for a moment before responding. “Like cigarettes?” You cringed that you’d even asked, of course that was what he’d meant. “Like weed.” He deadpanned. Finally, you found yourself cracking a smile for the first time that night. He finally felt he did something right for the first time that week. His friends had also warned him not to mention his affliction for pot. It’s not like the date could have gotten any worse, it seemed like the opportune time to pull that one out. “I wouldn’t say no.” You may as well get something out of this. Free weed with a hot guy was not something you were strong willed enough to pass up. If it lead to the inevitable make out session with them knee deep in the passenger seat afterwards then so be it.

“This is gonna sound really fucking presumptuous of me and I promise it’s not like that but uh, ha, I uh I have a room at the motel across the street.” You waited for him to stop mentally cursing himself for mentioning it, but it didn’t seem likely to stop soon. “You wanna smoke there?” You complete the suggestion for him. He nodded. “Figured it’d save us stinking out your car, know how hard it is to get rid of that smell.” Speaking from a literal decade of experience. “Very considerate of you.” You were already hopping from the stool you’d been sat on; he finally got a look at you in full as you made your way to the exit in front of him. He literally pinched himself.

You were unbelievable. It was a sick joke that his friends thought he’d ever have a chance with you. The only information they’d given him about you was;

She’s hot.

She’s a little blunt and direct.

She’s really funny.

She’s sweet once you get to know her.

She’s hot.

Hot didn’t even come close. The skirt cut way above the knee, your thighs thick, juicy and jiggling as you walked. Your tights an opaque black you’d assumed boring but still doing unspeakable things to him with the way they hugged you. He was about to get on his knees and crawl after you if only to get a better look at them. The fact you’d paired it off with a corset top was insane to him. A sheer black top was layered beneath it, sure, but it did nothing to hide your cleavage squished together and pushed up to the heavens as god intended. It was the kind of outfit to make a man do shameful, disgusting things to himself alone at night. That paired with the makeup, flawless and yet so minimal he’d only really picked up on it because of the neat little flicks above your eyelids. The accentuation of your lashes mixed with your waterlines coated in a cool white liner was actively destroying him. He had absolutely no idea what he’d done to deserve a shot with a woman like you and from that moment on, he couldn’t afford to let his nerves get the better of him anymore.

He chased out after you with a new found energy, similarly to a puppy chasing its owner. You arched your brow as he caught up with you, bouncing on the balls of his doc marten covered feet. “You’re kinda cold you know that?” You wondered if there was anything else he wanted to add to that or if he was done offending you there. “It’s really fucking intimidating actually.” A breeze blows over them, his curls combing back in the wind, his side portrait revealing itself along with the baby pink blush coating his cheeks. The street lights glowing behind him made him look pretty fucking angelic from your perspective. You felt yourself soften. “I’m sorry for that.” You looked down at your shoes, platform trainers you never went without, with a genuine remorse. “I know I must be hard to talk to.” You did feel embarrassed about the way you’d acted. You’d never really given him a chance. You tended to throw up a wall pretty effortlessly around new people. From the second he was late, your preconceptions plummeted into the earth. Perhaps you were too hasty after all.

“Hey it’s okay. I’m a big boy I can handle it.” He gestured to his chest as they walked more in unison. “We all have our shit.” He continues, suddenly bubblier than ever. “I for one, am fucking terrified of pretty girls.” He grinned, big and cheesy when you laugh, finally feeling like he’s accomplishing some level of charm. You even went as far as to tucking some hair behind your ear before the wind pulled it back away again. He wanted so desperately to reach out and fix it for you, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet, he had some serious impressing to do before he could reach that level of intimacy.

“No, I’m serious. Hard to believe I know.” You rolled your eyes. “Even harder when they’re a little mean.” He nudges your arm playfully, and boldly really, considering he was really pushing himself out of his comfort zone now. “I am pretty mean aren’t I?” You cringed. You didn’t want to be. You were just closed off and with good reason too, though he’d never question it, he could see it was there and something you were working through. “I reckon I can get you out of that shell.” You couldn’t stop smiling now, it was infuriating. “Like you suddenly came out of yours.” You elbowed him this time. He checked off a mental tally of things you did that made him think he stood a chance, so far he had two, which wasn’t a lot, but certainly enough.

“Sweetheart I’m gonna be honest.” He paused walking, you too, stopping in front of him, short and sweet and giving him your undivided attention and he wanted to kiss you, but it was so far from the moment for it. “You get set up on a date by your friends you expect it to be a failure right? Like you’re a fucking mess so naturally whoever they choose for you is going to be just as bad right? Half the time someone you’d never look twice at. As shallow as that is to say. But then I walk in and see, well you.” He gestures to you with both hands excitedly. “Shit I couldn’t believe it.” You shook your head. “You know you’re hot right? You act like it’s me who’s the hot one here.” He literally dropped his jaw, your confession wasn’t a complete blinder, he’d known he wasn’t ugly. There were some questionable attributes and insecurities of his, but he wasn’t ugly. He just hadn’t expected you to see that too. “Are you serious? I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me.” They start walking again, mostly because you feel so embarrassed and hot under the collar at the confession that you needed to put some space between the two of you again.

“The hickey on your neck says you know I’m right.” Of course you’d seen it. He instinctively reached to cover it, as if to say ‘oh that’s what that is.’ “Would you believe me if I said I was attacked by an octopus or something?” You looked at him seriously. “Yeah, no fair enough.” He snorted. He cursed himself for it. You thought it was fucking adorable. “We all have our shit.” You repeat his earlier statement. He genuinely beamed at you. “That we do.” They finally reached the motel, he leads you to his room, hands shaking like crazy, it could be the cold, it could be the nerves, either way, he struggled to slot the key in the lock. You cover his hand with yours, taking the keys, unlocking the door yourself. You were so fucking cute. He was losing his mind.

“Love what you’ve done with the place.” You waltzed in. Letting the warmth of the room engulf you in a hug. It’s not as bad as you’d pictured. It’s actually pretty clean. The walls freshly coated in off white paint. The carpet outdated but hoovered and surprisingly unstained. The sheets also outdated but again, cleaner than you’d expect from a joint like this. Suddenly fooling around in your car didn’t seem as appealing. Not when the bed looked so inviting. But that was planning too far ahead for you. Not far enough for him. He was picturing marriage and kids by now.

“Shut the fuck up.” He reached into his bag, bringing out a pre-rolled joint. “My, my, you do come prepared.” Unfortunately, he failed to notice the tiny lube packets thrown on the desk right beside the bag. “Safety first.” He wanted shooting. You’d happily shoot him. Though the thought that he might be the slightest bit interested in fucking you was making all your insides gooey. It was also real hard not to squeeze your thighs together. “Where to?” He scrambles, placing the joint between his lips, heading to the back of the room, another door, leading out to a shitty pool area, probably one of the most depressing scenes. Even the bright fuck off blue tint of the chlorine overdosed pool couldn’t brighten up the grey paving and metal fencing around it. The deckchairs missing half their legs, material spliced with a knife weren’t much helping it either. “Absolutely not.” He agreed, closing the door, locking it, throwing the chain on the latch firmly for good measure. He didn’t feel like dying there tonight.

They instead decide to smoke in the room, the windows open wide, the lights dimmed, some music playing lowly and gravelly from the clock radio at his bedside. He’s laid with his head to the foot of the bed, knees bent up, socks digging under his pillows on his designated side. You opted for propping yourself up at the headboard, pillows supporting your back, legs lay out flat, thighs pushed together. He’d so badly wanted to lay on them.

They pass the joint between them till it was half way through, the motel room hazy, the air thick, he damns it for hiding you from him. He just wants to get closer. “Whatcha thinking there?” You leaned forward, elbows on your knees. “So many dangerous thoughts.” He lets slip with a smirk. “Care to share with the class.” He groans, but he doesn’t mean it. “I share my weed, my time, my beautiful room, and you still want more?” He tsked at you. “If you’re thinking about me, don’t I have the right to know?” You offered back. “You have ownership over thoughts now?” You nodded. “I do. Better get them out in the open before you get into trouble.” You giggle at your own bullshit and that’s exactly what it was, complete and utter, couldn’t handle your weed bullshit. “What if,” he sits up, leaning back on his elbows. “The thoughts themselves get me into trouble.” You ponder it for a moment. “Then I really, really wanna know.” Your eyes lit up with a genuine excitement. “You’re so high aren’t ya little one?” You fought the urge to whimper at the pet name. “Tell me.”

He sighed. This time he sat up fully. You shuffled around yourself, crossing your legs. Your skirt so short you were well aware you weren’t covered by anything but tights right now but at least they were opaque, ish. He begged himself not to look. “Well, I was just thinking maybe we could uh…” he leaned in closer, his nerves started eating away at him when you leaned too, “we could shot gun. Maybe.” You chuckled. “If that’s as dark as it gets in that little mind of yours then your little fling,” you reached out, prodding the fading hickey on his neck, “must have been pretty abysmal.” He clicked his tongue. “Well, you certainly got me there huh.”

He leans up on his knees, lighting up before instructing you, “open up.” You were practically gawping at him as he inhaled, mouth propping open while he inhaled enough for him to feel his lungs aching. He reached for your face, thumb on one side of your mouth the rest of his fingers on the other, stretching your mouth wider, pushing the smoke right out of his own and into yours. Your eyes were open, just barely, eyelids heavy, pretty lashes fluttering, you had the audacity to moan when his lips pulled away without even kissing you. He was already fisting the sheets. It was over way too fast.

“You are way too fucking hot right now.” He stubs out the joint momentarily, placing it in the ash tray he’d now deposited on the desk. “Then why aren’t you kissing me?” He breathed a shaky breath, running his fingers down his face frustratedly. “That’s, that’s a good fucking question actually.” He practically bounced back onto the bed, you giggling away so fucking sweet, finally relaxing around him. His friends were right, you were a real sweetie deep down. He liked you at your bitchiest, any other version of you was a blessing on top.

Your hands stroke his cheek, startling him, you begin to pull them away, maybe a step too far but he’s pulling you back in by the wrists, depositing your arms lazily around his neck instead. “Just caught me off guard is all.” He lets his forehead lean against yours, his heart thudding rapidly in his chest. You smelled so good. He’d never forget it. Bury himself in it. You were more intoxicating than any drug and he’d sampled his fair share. “Don’t want you to regret this sweetheart.” He says it honestly, vulnerably. “You need to stay out of your head.” You’re calmer than he is. It didn’t take much. “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna be.” He rubs his nose against yours, so close yet so far. “But do you even like me? Cause I swear, you were so out, now you’re all in I…” Usually it’s the guy who kisses the girl when they’re rambling on, but you threw the outdated stereotype right in the trash. You kissed him. The second you did, he cupped your cheeks, grateful you had.

It wasn’t the best kiss either of them had ever shared. It wasn’t electric or life changing or even passionate, despite the chemistry they clearly shared now. It was messy and miscalculated, and they clashed their teeth with a clanging sensation at least twice. “Okay stop, stop.” You pulled back, not too far but far enough for him to miss you. “What the fuck was that?” You were deadly serious. He was mortified. “I can do so much fucking better I swear to god.” He would beg on his knees for another shot immediately. “Just take it easy.” Your voice is so soothing, reassuring and encouraging, he leaned in again. “I really wanna kiss you too, Eddie.” His eyes pinged with tiny hearts. “You do?” He was so struck dumb by the sound of you saying his name. “Stay with me here.” He nods like a lovesick puppy. “Kiss me again.” You nudge him, this time he eased into it. It started as steady, gentle closed mouth kissing, before prying your lips open with his tongue kissing, which lead to him pulling you into his lap kissing. Then it was him raking his fingers through your hair kissing, elevating to softly whining into your mouth kissing and well, you can gather the rest, you were fucking kissing.

“That’s more like it.” You praised, tugging at his hair, his breath hot against your lips, a smirk befalling you when he pushed his hips right up into yours, forgetting the thin layer of fabric between them, hitting right at your core, a moan pouring from your mouth into his. You even felt his dick kick in his jeans. “Fuck baby.” He whimpered at you calling him that. “You gonna whimper and whine whenever I talk honey.” You stroked his chin, his lips chasing after yours, power going straight to your head. He was so far gone, be it the weed, be it you, he didn’t know and he sure as hell didn’t care.

“Can’t help myself princess.” Your turn to swoon. “Drive me fuckin crazy.” His hands run up your thighs. “This fucking outfit. Can’t believe I nearly bored you to death at the start. I deserve a world of suffering.” You just hummed and nodded, letting him mumble and mutter away. “Dressed so pretty for me. Shortest fucking skirt. Knew what you were doing.” He starts sucking on your neck, moving your hair out of the way to better bruise you. “Made so much fun of my neck, let’s see how much you like some marks of your own.” He teased. “You wouldn’t dare.” You fought back. “Already fucking there.” He bit down into the soft, warm flesh of your neck, soothing the toothmarks with a swipe of his tongue. You hissed at the sensation, all sorts of thoughts flickering through the space of your mind right now. Eddie’s tongue, Eddie’s tongue, Eddie’s fucking tongue.

His heart was fucking hammering in his chest, all senses heightened, craving you. Yours were just as bad, if not worse. You were notorious for becoming insatiable under the influence, so it was no surprise to you how quickly the pace had increased. His apparent and fairly large need for you too was enough to mean that he was swimming in a similar ocean. “Can we please take some clothes off, I feel like I’m scorching.” You pulled at your corset like it were made of flames. “Never gonna say no to that.” He leans in kissing you again. Hands reaching up your back to feel around the corset, trying to find the tie. It had to be there somewhere. You guide his wrists down to the bow which he carefully undoes. He tries to tug it off you, not understanding how exactly it worked, pulled at it, yanked it, unthreaded it, fiddling some more. He pulls from your lips, maximum concentration, head resting against your chest, muttering into it. “Why are you doing this to me?”

You stroke his head, flattening some of his untamed mane, soothingly kissing his crown. “An A for effort. Poor baby.” He hugged you tight, needy and clingy and so, so into you. “Definitely the least practical top for a hook up but they make my tits look great.” You offered as a consolation. He pulled back, not looking at you, but directly at your breasts, grinning like a fool. That was enough of an encouragement boost to keep him going. “They sure do.” By the time he rests back against them, you’ve unthreaded the corset enough to slip it off over your head, which he gladly jumps to help you do, chucking the wretched thing across the room once it was off.

“Holy shit, look at these fucking things.” You bit into your lip as he grabbed them, no gentle caress, just taking them in each of his massive hands, squeezing them, tugging them, bunching them together, pinching each nipple till you pushed your chest further into his grip. “Unbelievable.” He lifted the sheer top you’d had on beneath the corset. Watching them fall out bare, they were beautiful. They were big, not perfectly round, not in the least bit symmetrical, but full and hot and heavy in his hands. Your nipples hard and prodding at him with an unfamiliar shaped lump adoring them both. Metal. You’d pierced not one but both nipples. “You’re fucking kidding me.” He stares at them, no really, mouth open, gold fish popping, gawping at them. “You can still suck on them.” It was as if you’d read his mind, he was wondering it too and, thankful you’d said it. He feared he might never have left that moment otherwise.

The feeling was different. Nothing like he’d experienced before. Boobs were boobs to an extent sure but the metal bar adorning them both was so erotic, so delicious to him. He sucked them gently at first, too afraid to do too much in unfamiliar territory. Once you sighed softly in approval, encouraging his movements, he finally began to explore, licking, sucking gently pulling with his teeth, your breath hitching, sounds increasing, soft little moans that coursed right through his blood stream. His tongue tangling around the piercings were enough to alert you to any other skills he might have had in that department. You made a bold assumption that he’d knew his way around with few complaints.

“I need more Eddie.” You pushed your chest into him. “Fuck I need more.” You were so high, aching with need, bursting with lust. He managed to pull himself away, only to catch your eyes. “Need more what?” You scowled, less than impressed with his agender to torture you further. “Or should I ask where you need me, hmm?” You shuddered. “Where do you fucking think?” You snapped, agitated and unafraid to hide it. He lapped it up. This might be his one and only opportunity to have a woman of your calibre begging for his cock, you could bet your ass he was going to milk it.

“Where I’m fucking soaking you already.” You pouted, your thighs squeezing his, sweet little centre rubbing down onto the zipper of his jeans, catching just right. An entirely new tactic to get yourself what you wanted. He moved his hand down between them as if he didn’t already feel the dampness, low and behold, his jeans were fucking ruined. “Gonna do anything about it?” You urged him, pushing him further, you’d cross every line you had to if it made him act.

Finally, he grabbed your hips, ready to roll you both over throwing your back down into the mattress, his body lowering, slotting between your spread thighs. The weight of him pinning you down. “Yeah I’m gonna do several fucking things about it.” Your cunt fluttered around nothing, the tremors rising all the way up into the pit of your stomach. It was a flaming sensation, making you fidget and puff short little sighs of frustration into the room. You were pained by the lack of his touch even more so by the emptiness.

“That was hot.” You sighed; he smirked. “You’re hot.” His eyes rake over your body. “Look at you.” He ran his hands down your sides, he couldn’t decide what to play with first. So much choice, so much to devour. He was stalling. So nervous he couldn’t quite push himself to do anything at all. Just leaning back on his legs, not believing the sight before him. You reached out for his hand, not to bring it to touch you, even though you weren’t opposed to the idea. Instead, you just wanted to bring him back down to earth, offer him some solace. “You still with me?” You traced your thumb across the back of his hand. “We can hit pause.” He shakes his head, taking your other hand in his. “No fucking way princess.” He gulps. “I just needed to look at you, take it all in.” He pulls your hand to his lips, kissing it. “I might not get the chance again.” You sure hoped he would, as did he. “You have about 2 seconds to take a mental picture.” You mouthed “one, two,” before he leaned down, kissing you delicately on the mouth.

You tug at his hair, pulling his weight on top of you, wanting it actually. He grunts. “Please, take some damn clothes off.” He pauses for a moment. Shit. He couldn’t just keep his clothes on. He sits up, practically flying off the bed like an erratic little bat, flinging his jacket off, his shirt, struggling with his jeans too. “Shit, fuck, shit.” You’re leant up, arms behind you, watching him hop on one leg, trying to get his boots off whilst his jeans are halfway down his legs. You decide to show mercy, putting him out of his misery, slipping onto your knees, halting him.

He gulps, swallowing hard as he takes in the view of you there, topless, blushing, hair thrown over your shoulder, on your fucking knees. You unlace his boot, slipping it off his foot, one after the other, before tugging down his jeans, letting him step out of them. While you’re down there, you can’t help but peak, his sizeable bulge straining against his boxers, leaking. A sweet little wet patch calling to you. You move your face towards it, but he stops you. “Nuhuh sweetheart, no can do.” You pout, brows furrowing sweetly. He tilts your chin up toward him. “Want me to bust in 2 seconds flat? One more pout and I’m there sweetheart. Don’t test me on this one.” You roll your eyes before admitting defeat, effortlessly standing up again, sitting yourself on the edge of the bed.

“What do you suggest instead then?” He takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying to compose himself as he approaches you slowly. "Why don't you lie back for me, princess?" His voice is low and husky, dripping with barely restrained desire. He wasn’t fooling anyone. You shift higher up the bed, leaning into the pillows while his hands already work at tugging your skirt down your plump thighs.

He hooks his fingers in the waistband, tugging gently as he looks you dead in the eye. “Lift,” he commands, his voice firm yet gentle. It makes your stomach summersault. You comply, arching your back slightly as he slowly drags the short little thing down your legs, tossing it aside along with your tights, your panties left on.

Just as you ponder why he left them on at all, he pulls them up, between your lips, “for me?” You roll your eyes, mostly in hopes he doesn’t see the effect he’s having on you, “which part?” He takes a swipe, “the lace and the dampness.” You groan. He moves them to the side and pulls you apart, admiring you, sucking in a deep breath. “Stop staring.” You squirm. He ignores you, “I’m serious stop,” he looks at you, “shut the fuck up, I’m working here.” You face palm in embarrassment, he takes the win. He leans in, sucking at you, licking you, in all the wrong places almost as if he’s doing it on purpose. He cannot be serious. First the kiss now this.

You lean up on your elbows, watching him, as soon as your eyes meet his, he finds your clit, “oh there it is.” He smirks into it, you mumble, you’re not sure what. He hums. His breath is hot against you, you already felt like you were on fire and all he was doing was adding oxygen to it. But his tongue is so gorgeous and long, darting inside you. You forgive him. He’s fucking perfect and direct around your clit, plus his plump, pretty lips latched onto you, sending you to heaven. Felt so empty though, clenching down on nothing, needing more than what he was giving you. Maybe you were greedy, maybe you just wanted this man like no other. Maybe that was the same thing.

“More.” You sigh. He ignores you, purposely or accidentally you’re unsure. “Fuck more.” You repeat. He mumbles around you, lifting a hand to wave you off, nothing was stopping him now, “please.” His brow quirks up at that. “Pleaseee.” You say again. He rotates his finger as if to say, “keep going,” head still buried between your legs. “Please, babe, I need more, please, please.” The gesture continues. You groan, hips wiggling, his spare hand pins them. “Fuck, I need more, please, please more. Eddieeee.” He lifted his hand to gesture a chef’s kiss, and you wanted to crush his head with your thighs like a damn watermelon. He pissed you off even more when his mouth hesitated, leaving you with nothing for far too long, before he finally sucked on those same sarcastic fingers, pushing them inside you. He didn’t stop there; his lips were back at your clit. Your head was thrown back into the pillows beneath you, your back arching, hips bucking into him. “Fuck.”

Despite his theatrics, it was good, it was more than good. Everything increased by the weed of course but credit where credit is due and all that. You were drenched, whining, pushing your tits into your own hands. You were floating on a cloud. He was touching you so well. So, fucking well. You almost felt that band snap, stomach summersaulting with the realisation. Cumming, you were close to cumming. Fuck what if you sounded stupid? What if you made too much noise or fuss? What if he didn’t like the way you tasted? You psyched yourself out of it when you got too close, he furrows his brows, pulling away when you groan and mutter frustratedly. He came up for air like a diver who’d been underwater, hair pushed back, gasping for a breath. “What happened? Weren’t you there? Felt like you were there.” He’s not angry, not annoyed he’d failed, really he had only the look of concern.

“I was there.” You confirm. “What happened?” He still touches you, not to make you cum, just cause he wanted to, really wanted to, if you did though, that was a bonus. “I got in my head.” He nodded, understandingly. “Well, it’s a very nice head, I’d wanna be in there too.” He says it so comfortingly poking you. “But it’s kinda cruel to deny yourself, don’t ya think?” His fingers slip inside you again briefly, pulling out, seeing if you had any objection. “Think I think too much.” He laughs. “That’s what the weed was for.” You cover your face. “I don’t wanna force it, but I do want to try again, would you be okay with that?” The way he looks at you makes you want to trust him with your life. Eyes big and beautiful, soft for you. You agreed, the fact he wasn’t put off entirely was unfortunately a shock to you. “Okay.” You breathe, relaxing.

He builds you up again, much the same, consistency being key. “Close your eyes.” He talks you through it. You do so. He mumbles. “Just focus on how I feel, can you do that?” You nod but he doesn’t see, too busy, so you speak up. “Ye- yeah.” He continues. You focus, eyes closed, he feels good, wet, warm, “hmm,” his tongue licked a stripe up your cunt, torturously not dipping inside. “Oh.” Then his tongue licks at your clit, short, quick flickers, not overly exaggerated. “Shit.” His lips kiss and suck and hold the bundle with care, his finger pushes into you, slow and deliberate, gently hooking, as if tugging at that very string preventing you from getting there. “Fuck, baby.” He repeats, patiently drawing you near. Feeling you shuffle, feeling you tighten, hearing you whine as you near the edge, he tugs that string like it’s his fucking lifeline, and he needs it back in his possession, you crumble, back arching, moans loudening, he doesn’t let up until your thighs are shaking, breath laboured. “Fuck, fuck.” Your hips drop, body feeling like it’s plummeting from great heights, orgasm crashing over you in waves. He pulls away from you, he doesn’t grin like you thought he would, just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stares at you like you hung the fucking moon.

He climbs up your body, peppering kisses along your stomach, your chest, your neck, your jaw. His face comes into view over you, and he smiles softly. His eyes are glazed, and his pupils are huge. He looks high and sated, happy. And its infectious. He leans in to kiss you but stops himself. “Do you… I mean… can I…” You try to finish for him. “Kiss me?” He flashes his teeth a little, before biting his bottom lip. “Yeah.” He says breathlessly. Your nod is the only permission he needs before he takes your mouth again, cupping your jaw. You kiss him passionately, enjoying the taste of yourself mixed with his sweet mouth as his tongue glides along your bottom lip, dipping inside to tangle with your own. You can feel his erection pressing against your hip, aching, no, throbbing. You hum against his tongue, face moving, moulded perfectly against his, body rocking too, grinding against him. Both of you getting carried away, feeling free now. Comfortable.

You wrap your arms around his neck and he slots between your legs, hands reaching down to grip the fat of your ass in his hands, groaning, hips bucking into you when he takes hold. “Fuck.” You gasp. He continues kissing you, sucking hard onto your lips, biting a little, licking a little, tongue deep inside your mouth. He tries to be quiet but you can feel him panting a little against your mouth, hips pushing at you in desperation.

It’s now just a case of who breaks first. Neither of you willing to pull away for even a second. Despite knowing how badly you needed each other. His hips start moving more intentionally, grinding against you, making his own frustrated sounds which get smothered against your lips. You can literally feel his struggle between wanting to maintain control and losing it completely. His hands squeeze your ass tighter, spreading you, pulling you closer. Slotting you directly against his clothed cock. Your fingers dig into his chest, scraping gently at his tattoos there. He sighs at the catch of your nails. You test him again, firmer. Scratching him as he shudders. You do it again, there’s a whimper against your lips this time but he’s pulling away, he’d reached boiling point.

"Fucking hell.” He pulls back, panting hard. His eyes are dark with lust, his hair tousled from your fingers running through it. He looks down at your breasts, rising and falling with each breath, then back up to your eyes. “I wanna… god I wanna fuck you baby, can I fuck you?” His hands stroke over your shoulder, up and down, a gentle, tickling touch. “God I wanna fuck you.” You lean up, nose brushing against his, his eyes flutter closed, you feel them long bambi lashes fan at your cheeks. You chase his lips. Kissing him harshly. Dragging him back down against your body.

He cups your cheeks, kissing you back, tongue slipping into your mouth, but he still tries to speak. “That a yes?” You groan against his mouth. “Tell me it’s a yes.” He’s kissing across to your jaw. You crane your neck to give him full access. He nips at you, teeth grazing then squeezing, a punishment for leaving him hanging. “Shit, yes, yes you can fuck me. Want you to fuck me, stop being a fuckin vampire.” He chuckles against your neck, his body relaxing. He bites again but softly this time, before sucking where your shoulder meets your neck soothing any injury. His hips push against you. His length sliding against your slick, throbbing cunt. He’s so hard it hurts, you, not him, though maybe him too. “Shit. Condom?” He pulls back to look at you.

“You don’t have any? Mr wears a hickey on the first date.” You look at him in absolute awe. “How do you have lube and not condoms?” You dip in for another kiss. You couldn’t help it. “I uhh don’t have one on me no. And no comment on the uh other thing.” He mumbles against your lips. His heart pounding, stomach plummeting. He’d ruined everything. But your legs wrap around his waist. Sending him humming when your pussy grinds against him. His own hips matching yours. “You have any? Little miss perfect?” He asks quietly, sucking your bottom lip again. Your legs tighten around him. He whimpers. “Maybe.” His eyebrows arch. Fuck if you grind against him anymore you’re in for one hell of a sticky situation.

“Maybe?” He groans, face scrunching. “You wanna use me as a toy baby, just fuckin tease and never let me have you?” He doesn’t even hate the idea. There’s a sick part of him that wants it like that, but he pins it for a later date. He instead, kisses down your neck, sucking hard onto the same spot as before, in case you missed his warning. You hiss. “I’m on the pill if you even care.” His eyes widen. His pupils blowing out like that of a cat. Big, black, and impossible to ignore. He stops kissing you for a second, staring at your face in utter disbelief and perhaps even a hint of excitement, his Christmas coming early. Him too, potentially. “You’re on the pill? As in, I can come inside you? As in, I can fill you up? As in…”

“Offer expiring as we speak.” You rock your hips up against him, for something, anything. “No, nope, nuhuh, fuck no, no expiring, gonna just fuck you baby.” He kisses you back, practically tearing your panties just to get to you. His hands roaming over your body roughly. You part your legs wider like an invitation and he takes it. Breaking the kiss only to shuck off his boxers with ease before spreading your legs wide. You gawp at his cock, half sitting up just to get a better view. “Great, now you’re staring.” It twitches as he speaks, shy maybe. “Can’t help it.” You absentmindedly lick over your bottom lip, but he notices it, eyes locked on your face for any kind of negative reaction. “Big huh.” He huffs. “I’m serious.” You insist. “And the way you.. curve a little.” Your hands reach out to stroke him, but you pull your hand back as if you’d been bitten. No, you wouldn’t touch him yet.

He watches your hand pull back with amusement, frustration too. His own hand reaches for you, grabbing yours and guiding it to wrap firmly around him. “Go on, get a proper feel. Ain't gonna bite baby." His hips flex slightly, pushing his cock into your palm encouragingly. Smearing his precum against your palm. His voice was strained. “Spits though.” You swipe through the beading white droplets leaking from his slit. “Looks pretty dangerous to me.” He growls, his hips bucking into your hand, his own still over yours. “Woman," his face scrunches up, how he hadn’t cum, was a fucking miracle to him. “Want me to put it in?”

His hips jerk, he’s embarrassed by the whimper that leaves him when your wrist twists, experimentally touching him, torturing him. “Lie back, lie back and fucking move your hands.” He sounded pained. He was fucking pained. Your cheeks flush crimson. “Please.” He adds politely. Just in case he snapped a little too hard. But you liked it. You only blushed because the thought of squishing him inside you was enough to make you drip.

He watches you with barely restrained urgency as you lay back. The moment you do, he pounces, crawling over you like some kind of predator. Settling between your thighs with a relieved groan at the welcoming heat awaiting him. His cock jumps against you, and he can't help the frustrated grunt that escapes him. You rut your hips against him, and he just can’t get over it. Every fucking thing you do. Every little thing. You were so sexy. So incredibly hot without even trying. He takes himself in his hand, rubbing his thick, hot head against your pussy, swiping through, coating himself in your arousal and you both shudder. You grasp for his forearm, stopping him before he even has the chance to dip his needy tip into you. You were killing him.

“Let me in. Please baby you fuckin have to let me in.” He leaks some more precum against you, you like the way its feels, sticky and warm against your skin. “I will, I promise, just not like this.” He groans exasperated. “Then what? Like what baby?” He’s trying so hard to keep level headed here but you were testing him. He takes a new approach, pinching your lips around his length, fucking through them, head catching your clit, a sweet whine tumbles from your lips. He didn’t even need to be inside you to turn you to mush with his cock. “Just wanna wrap myself around you, you fucking idiot, want to touch you, hold you and fucking feel you properly not just lie here complicit in missionary.” It’s a wonder you manage to get it out at all, through laboured breath, his dick pulsing against you.

“He smirks down at you, his eyes glimmering, amused. “Then don't.” He leans down, pressing his lips to your neck, his hands sliding up your sides, around to your back then up to tangle in your hair. “Touch me.” He breathes, his voice low and husky. “Hold me. Wrap your fucking body around me.” He lifts you slightly. You wrap your arms tight around his neck, your legs hug around his waist, body clinging to his with all your strength. He lays you both on your side, the two of you sinking into the mattress, into each other, his cock lining up with you and you doing nothing to prevent him from slipping in, just letting his tongue catch yours as you moan for him, and he does too, the loudest you’d ever heard him, overwhelmed from plunging into your hot, wet little pussy. His hands rake over your ass, grabbing at it, pulling you further onto him, with no protest from you, just acceptance, just taking him and taking him so god damn perfectly.

His breath hitches as he feels you take every inch of him, your body moulding around his like some sort of fucked up puzzle piece. He groans, hands gripping your ass tighter, grinding you against him, him rocking his hips into your cunt, meeting you there. “Fuck," he gasps, his hips moving in a slow, deep grind as he slides in and out of you in this new position. "Feel so damn good around me baby." He mumbles against your neck. “So, fucking wet.” He ruts into you smiling against your neck. “Yes baby.” He moans softly; his voice muffled against your skin. “Like that.” He encourages, his hips snapping forward as he grips your thighs and pulls you closer. “Touch me.” He gasps, his breath hot against your neck. “Hold me.”

“Yes,” you tangled your fingers in his hair, he grunts as you tug. “I know, I know you like it baby.” You coo. "You god damn know it." He hisses, bucking his hips harder. "You pull my hair like that again." He warns darkly. "And I'll breed you." Your breath hitches, he feels you squirm, like you’re trying to get away from him. He curses himself mentally. “Too much? Way too fucking much?” He panics. “First fuckin date remember.” He rolls his eyes. “Already balls deep baby, too late for etiquette.” You huff. “Just maybe keep the whole breeding thing to a minimum.” He nods in agreement although he doesn’t miss the way you clenched around him as you said it, he took a mental note, not that it’d take, you had him scrambled.

Despite him nodding, he doesn’t really mean it. He’s already picturing you stuffed full of his cum. “Mmm.” He pushes those thoughts aside. “I won’t mention it again.” He promises, pushing his hips forward. “Pinky promise sweetheart.” Your hands lock in the promise, his forehead against yours, breath hot against your lips. “God can you… fuck can you move back a little, gimme some room.” He rolls his eyes but complies, shifting back slightly with a soft grunt, giving you a little more space between your bodies. His cock slips out partway, the new position allowing him to look down between you both, admiring the sight of himself disappearing inside you. "Better?" He huffs. Barely keeping it together. Feeling it was one thing, seeing it was another. The grip you had on him as he pulled back, far enough the tip caught your lips before pushing all the way back in, hugged tight by you, your hips bucking, back arching. You slip a hand down between your torsos, feeling your way down to rub at your clit, his eyes nearly bulge out of his skull, watching you rub yourself, fucking yourself on his cock, desperately humping at him. “Fuck, so much better, so much fucking better.”

"Jesus Christ." He curses under his breath. The sight of you touching yourself, fucking yourself on him, god it was enough to make him see heaven. He reaches down, his hand covering yours, pressing down harder as his hips begin to move, matching your rhythm. "So fucking pretty for me. Look at you go. Look at you taking it.” Your mouth parts, sweet little sounds coming out needy and desperate. Pathetic really. “Can I cum Eddie? Can I?” If you’d have told him at the beginning of the night that he’d end up here, with you begging to cum on his cock without him even pushing you to, he’d tell you to fuck off. Because there was no way in hell you’d ever stoop so low. But hell, was he glad you did.

He laughs in disbelief, his breath coming in short pants as he watches you writhe beneath him, utterly lost in pleasure, begging for it, for him. “Are you seriously asking permission right now?" He teases, hips never stopping their relentless grind against yours. "Fuck yes, cum for me. Never need my permission baby, you cum whenever you fucking want, however many times you want.” You sigh with relief, hand speeding up against your clit, his mouth comes crashing down against yours, hands squeezing at your hips. He kisses you till you can’t kiss back anymore. Till you can only moan and yell, and cum loudly, pussy squeezing him half to death. And when he spills, he spills hard, so hard he’s seeing white spots, head hazy, body engulfed in your flames.

You’re breathless, both run ragged. Trying hard to calm the racing beating of your hearts but to no avail. He collapses into you and you only hold him tighter, face buried in his neck, his hair drifting over you like a curtain and you don’t even care, too wrecked to give a damn but he does. He moves it away. He strokes your cheek, kissing it, soft, sweet, gentle blessings dotted across your face as he comes to. “Baby girl.” His hips shift a little, stirring his finish inside you, just checking it really happened, it really was in there, and it was. “You okay?” He pulls back to catch your eyes. Your makeup is a fucking state. mascara smudged, eyeliner gone entirely. “Define okay.” He smirks at your response, running his fingers through your hair to push it away from your face, better to see the mess he made of you. "I think I can answer that." He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Breathing, cracking jokes, looking at me like you wanna kiss me.” He pecks your lips again. “All signs of life are there.”

“Think I need the opinion of an actual medical professional.” Worry flickers over his face. “You serious?" He laughs softly, pulling back to look at you better, taking in your swollen lips, messy hair, red cheeks. "You feeling sick?" He asks seriously now. "Actual nausea? Headache?" He throws himself off the bed, ready to find his boxers and t-shirt. You whine at the loss of him inside you far too soon. “No, Jesus, come back. I was kidding.”

"Don't joke about shit like that." He crawls back on top of you, pressing his body against yours. "You're okay, right? Nothing hurts?" Your lips twitch into a smile. “Nothing hurts. You gave it your best go though.” He snorts, rubbing his face, his eye in particular. “Yeah well, gifted.” You shove him, playfully. “Where were you gonna go in boxers and a t-shirt hmm? Who were you tracking down like that without a car Ed?” Despite you making fun of him the only part he really focuses on is “Ed.” Sounds so pretty from your mouth.

He strokes his thumb over your bottom lip. He ignores the question, "say it again." He murmurs, leaning in closer. "Say my name." He whispers, his nose nudging yours. "Please?" He asks softly. “Not even listening to me are you?” You trace messy little patterns across his shoulder blades. “No ma’am. Not really." He admits. "You called me 'Ed' and fucked me up." He confesses, his face buried in the crook of your neck, breathing you in. "I like it." He mumbles. "I really like it." He pecks your neck. “Kinda pathetic Ed.” He squeezes you, smiling, lips catching your neck. “I can live with pathetic. Try besotted even.” He pulls from you to catch your eyes. “Besotted already? Should I be worried?”

"Maybe." He grins mischievously, his hips shifting slightly, making you suck in a breath. "Answer a question honestly." He speaks softly. His fingers carding through your hair again and again. "No bullshit." He adds. "No snark." He smirks. “No promises.” You respond, his face falls. “Fine, whatever. Go on.” He rolls his eyes, trying to hide the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Really fucking helpful." He mutters but presses on anyway. “Truth time. You think I'm annoying as hell, right? Like, offensively annoying?" You nod. “Incredibly so yeah.” He laughs softly, his body relaxing. "Honest answers. God bless." He hesitates. “Would you get to the point?” He nods, plodding on. “Too annoying for a second date?”

Your lips quirk up into a smile. “You wanna see me again?” He blinks at you like you were speaking a different language. "Duh." He says, his face deadpan for all of a second before he's grinning again, his lips pressing against yours. "Gimme your number." He commands softly, breath fanning across your mouth. "Let me take you out. Do this shit right. Maybe not turn up late this time.” You pretend to ponder it for a moment. You pretty much decided you liked him from the second he kissed you, even if it was one of the worst first kisses you’d ever had. Because when the second one came around, stealing your breath like it was nothing, yeah, you knew alright. “I’m so down for that.”

He grins widely, a playful glint in his eye as he leans in, his lips barely brushing yours. “Well, well, well, looks like I finally managed to impress a girl without fucking it up royally." He teases, his hands sliding down to grasp your hips gently. “Congratulations.” You whisper against his mouth; it does funny little things to him. His heart skips a beat at the sound of your voice so close, so soft and sweet for him. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, and before he can stop himself, he's smiling against your lips, a sweet, lazy smile that speaks volumes of the affection he's beginning to feel. “Think I’m in trouble here.” You kiss him gently. “Think I’m right there with you.”

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #rockstar eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #stranger things smut #eddie munson stranger things

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gloomunson · 1 year ago

Text

Purely Transactional

First time really publishing anything I've written for Eddie. No stranger to smut. just to him. Go easy on me.

Eddie Munson smut. The one where you fake date. Picture the 90s. Slow build.

Word Count: 12,872

Picture this; you’re being forced to attend your sisters engagement party, it’s a weekend event a couple towns over. You’ve got a room booked for two, yourself and your boyfriend. Your family can’t wait to meet the man who’s stolen your heart at last. It’s actually the second biggest event in your family history for years. The issue: you don’t have a boyfriend. You haven’t had one since you were 16. You only said you did have a boyfriend because you thought you would have by now. You never saw life going this way at all. Now you either have to fess up to being a single mother of two beautiful little dogs or find a last minute lover to feel less alone. Yay.

You asked everyone you knew. The neighbour, the neighbour’s neighbour. His cousin from out of town, his cousin from out of town’s neighbour. Every single one of your friends and only one of them gave you something or more, someone to work with. “Why don’t you ask Eddie?” You’re slouching on his sofa, sinking into the leather as he strums away at his guitar a joint hanging dangerously from his mouth. “I don’t know him.” You say it like it’s obvious, kicking your feet up. “Which is exactly why you should.” You catch his drift, but you don’t want to. It wasn’t as ideal as he thought it was. “I’m gonna get asked questions.” You deadpan. “So, make some notecards.” You tug the joint from his mouth, bringing it to your own. “Yes you may have that.” You flick him. “Rude.” You take a drag before slotting it back gently between his lips, returning to your seat.

“He won’t do it.” Gareth doesn’t respond. “I know he won’t, he doesn’t like me.” He huffs. ‘You hadn’t given him a chance to’ is what he says in his mind. “Has he told you that?” He quit playing, giving you more of his attention. He really did want to help. “Not exactly, no.” He leaned over his guitar, placing the joint down in his hand painted ash tray on the coffee table. The one you made for him for Christmas the year before. The one that he loved and guarded with his life. “Ask him.” You shake your head. “Ask him.” He says again, the guitar now being rested carefully against the table alerting you that he meant business. “No. Way.” You continue. He moves over to you; you slot your legs across his lap, and he leans back into his seat comfortably under the weight of them. “I’m gonna ask him.” You think he’s joking. You hoped he was joking. He wasn’t joking.

“Edward, we don’t know each other that well so I thought you’d be perfect plus you’re kinda the only other single one left, so it had to be you.” There were no lies told. You were the only ones; it might have been the only thing you actually had in common in your little inner circle of friends. You weren’t close but you also weren’t complete strangers. You were a little more than acquaintances, but not really friends. He was your only shot at this, that much you did know. “I resent that.” You roll your eyes, ‘you would,’ you think. You’re running out of options, he was your last chance, you had a week to prepare, this had to be it. You considered throwing in the towel moments before he arrived at your place. Half an hour late. It should have been enough of a sign not to go through with it but then he did arrive. Meaning that somewhere deep down inside him, he was interested. You could work with interested.

“I’ll pay you.” You can’t imagine anything worse; you were desperate sure, not desperate enough to actually pay him but desperate all the same. He seemed reasonable enough though. He had more money now than he knew what to do with and he was close with Gareth. Gareth was good people; he’d turn your offer down; you were sure of it. “How much?” He perks up, stroking his chin now his attention was caught. “You weren’t actually supposed to want payment.” You panicked, feet shuffling, hands tapping your thighs relentlessly. He was smirking. “Isn’t that how this is supposed to work?” He steps in close, a couple feet between you, not enough. “Want me to act like an escort? You’re gonna have to pay me like one.” If you hadn’t ever had a conversation with him, you might have found that attractive. He was tall, dark, and handsome. His jawline so picturesque you may have thought about kissing it once or twice. You also liked his eyes, even if he was cold and callous beneath them, only out for himself. But he wasn’t that attractive, and he didn’t intimidate you like he thought he did. Much.

“Like you don’t have more money than my entire family combined.” You dig. His rock star era made a hell of a name for himself. This was never going to happen. You don’t know why he even entertained it this far. There wasn’t a single helpful bone in his body, no matter how much you wished there were. “How bad do you need a boyfriend sweetheart?” He shortens the space between you even more. Your chest feels tight, the confidence dripping from his tongue was actually working on you, you were out of your depth. The way he looked at you too. Eyes flicking down to your lips and back, head tilting slightly, almost robotically, like he was sizing you up. Seeing if he could make it work. Make you work for him. You felt a heat on the back of your neck. You felt gross.

“100 bucks if they believe it, 50 if they don’t.” You couldn’t believe you were even saying it. You’d have to make him forget you agreed to any of that. “For how long?” He quipped back. “You’re so greedy. I’m gonna have to make a note of that in our very public lovers spat.” You lace it with venom as well as humour, standing your ground. The corner of his lips begins to curl. He fights it. “How long?” He repeats again, just as steady in tone. “A weekend.” You breathe. “Like Saturday and Sunday.” He asks. “Like Friday to Monday,” you respond just as deadpan. “200.” He takes a dangerous step closer. You don’t flinch. “150 and no black eye.” His brows furrow, forehead creasing in confusion. He kind of reminded you of a neanderthal. Dumb little boy.

“Why would I have a black eye?” You raise your fist. “OKAY PUT YOUR FIST DOWN. Jesus woman, I’ll do it.” He admits defeat. “Perfect. I made some note cards, things about me you may get asked about, read them, memorise them, guard them with your life.” You tug the notes from your back pocket, pushing them into his chest abruptly. He looks down at them quizzically. “What if they ask about me?” You shrug your shoulders. “I’m sure you’re not that complex.” He doesn’t attempt to hide how insulted he is by that.

“When is it?” You point to the cards. “All the information you need is in the notes.” He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again, “how are we-“ you go to open your front door, you’d had the entire conversation in the hallway, not wanting him to go any further into your home than that. “In the notes Edward.” He takes a look down at the cards in his hands, he hated reading other people’s handwriting, made him feel dumb when he couldn’t understand it as well as he’d liked. You joined your letters all curly too which didn’t help. He actually half expected you to dot the I’s with hearts, you seemed like that kind of girl. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed that you hadn’t.

You’re ushering him out the door, waving your hand to make him move faster. He pauses in your doorframe. You were so close. You could just kick him; he’d be off your property in no time. You wouldn’t have to think about him for another week then. You could pack your bags in peace. “You spelt my name wrong.” He points to the card; you’d done it on purpose. “No, I think your parents did.” He frowns. Before he can respond again you give him that much needed shove out the door. “BYE Eddie!” You slam it behind him, leaning your back against it as if that would prevent him from getting back inside and on top of your nerves again. He found the whole ordeal just as unpleasant as you had but he still finds himself on the other side of that door with a smile on his face. He read every single card you wrote for him. You were way more annoying than he thought.

“What part are you guys having trouble understanding?” You ask the table, leaning over, reaching for your cocktail to distract your mouth before you can step your foot in it. You were being tested way harder than you ever anticipated you would. You really never imagined they’d care let alone put you on trial for the crime of getting a boyfriend without their prior knowledge or approval. It’s nice to know how friendly and welcoming they really are when push comes to shove. You’d have to keep that in mind for the real thing, whenever that might be.

You’d laugh the nerves away, but you were afraid you might never stop laughing. You’d just manically laugh until you sank under the table, down into the ground, right to centre of the earth, burning up at the core before passing away painfully. You wished you could laugh. Instead, you just took the longest sip, looking to your left and right as subtly as you could muster under the immense pressure placed upon your shoulders by your sister and her fiancé. Deep breaths, it’ll all be over soon.

“I don’t buy it.” She states matter of factly. “You go from a single dog mom to suddenly in love with the perfect guy.” You open your mouth to speak but you daren't even try, she’s not finished yet. “It’s a little conveniently timed don’t you think?” She waves her hands to illustrate her point in that annoying fashion that only she could. Waving her fresh manicure right in your face, whether accidental or on purpose, still ridiculously annoying and yet another reminder that she had her life together and you didn’t. She turned to her fiancé before glancing towards the rest of the table for back up, all nodding along with her instantly as if she were a puppet master stringing them along. Cowards.

Your gaze remains steady and ice cold, colder than the slushy cocktail in your hands. The only thing that made the weekend worth it was the free bar and the adorable outdoor beer garden. You release the straw after a long sip with an “Ahh.” You try not to enjoy the twitch of your sister’s right eye at the sound. She’d always loathed when people did that. Anyone who made a noise of satisfaction after a drink no matter how delicious or refreshing it may be, was a colossal pain in her ass. You think she just despises other people’s enjoyment. She thinks it’s an unnecessary sound that people tend to use to exaggerate how nice something is as a performance for other people rather than for themselves. She also thinks it’s incredibly unladylike, which gives you a bigger kick to try it out every single time.

“Why would I lie?” You place your drink down harder than you intend to, wincing as the glass clangs on the table so hard you thought it may shatter. “You know I love you sis, but I don’t think I’d go to the length of faking a relationship just because you’re getting engaged.” Which would be such a wonderful sentence to throw out into the universe if that weren’t exactly what you were doing. “I just met the right guy.” You try not to grimace at the cheesiness of it all, that, and the fact you still hadn’t decided if you’d even liked him more than just a piece of eye candy. Because there was no denying that he was attractive, from the start he’d had that going at least. You’d only been admitting it because of the influence of alcohol too. It was just the rest of the package that gave you a headache.

“But he’s-“ You scowl before she continues that sentence, you almost will her to continue. “He’s what?” You push. If anyone were going to come for Eddie they had better make it good because that was an area you excelled in and would absolutely love to be a part of even if you did have to defend him right now. You could always use any good material at a later date when left to your own devices though, a pen and paper would be wonderful.

“He’s not your type.” You don’t believe that’s what she planned to say, it came out far too polite to be something she’d actually thought of. “What is my type then?” You probably shouldn’t have asked her this, but your curiosity trumps all reason. She flails her hand around in her lap, trying to think of the correct way to phrase it. You had no doubt your past relationships were displaying in her mind, enough horrendous options for her to choose from right out of a hat.

“Nerds,” she begins to list on her fingers, which is quite alarming because you really didn’t think you had that much of a track record. “Gamer boys,” which basically comes under ‘nerds.’ “Skinny guys,” that was absolutely not exclusive, “Gamer boy nerds.” She throws 3 fingers up. That’s if she was classing ‘boy’ as a type which you assume she was. You had to hand it to her, she wasn’t entirely wrong about your past dating pool, but Eddie wasn’t exactly far off that. Allegedly, back in his school days, he was the biggest nerd of them all, right before his band took off, he was participating in DnD tournaments and if that wasn’t the epitome of gamer boy nerd then what was? He just happened upon a glow up in his mid-twenties, something you still desperately waited for yourself. “Eddie just, doesn’t seem much of a nerd.” You’re certain that’s not what she intended to say, and you thought she might stop herself there, but she doesn’t, why would she? “He’s, well I hate to say it,” you bet she doesn’t though, “he’s out of your league.” Ahh, there it is. That’s more like it. She even says it with an apologetic expression to make you consider it for a millisecond. If only he were here. Oh, how he’d love this.

Eddie was the lucky one in this scenario, whether it was fake or not, you were a catch. One that no one had ever caught and kept hold of but a catch, nonetheless. Your mom would agree, probably not the best argument but it’s there and it counted. You reached for your drink once again and prayed he returned soon; you were drowning out here and you weren’t even out of the shallows. “Then lucky me.” You sip as aggressively as one can with a shitty paper straw wedged between their teeth. You were so glad the sea turtles were safer at the hands of recycled paper straws, but you so missed being able to drink a cocktail without the added ingredient of paper mache sinking at the bottom of each glass.

“Why are we in luck?” His voice swings in joining the conversation as he walks back over to your table, the chain on his jeans jingling as it swayed while he walked. You’d asked him to remove it, he swore he would, he didn’t. His hearing was impeccable, you wonder what else had slipped by him on his way over. You’d honestly never felt so relieved to hear his voice either, even if his steps closer bought the smell of cheap cigarettes and your early twenties. You’d have loved him back then. Back in college, your first taste of freedom, the option to date whoever you liked, to experiment a little. You’d have eaten up that bad boy, leather jacket, fingers coated in metal, cigarette smoking musician act he had going for him. Quiet and brooding too, oh yeah, your knickers would have never left the floor. Good thing you grew up since then.

He grabbed his chair, pushing it right next to yours, as close as he could get without sitting directly on top of you and for a second you ponder about why he bothered with his chair at all. His eyes burned into the side of your face, and you plastered a smile wide enough to match his as you leant into him. “What took you so long?” You whispered while maintaining that sickeningly sweet smile that hurt your face to pull. “You miss me that much?” He licked across his bottom lip, and you mentally scold yourself for looking at it. “I’m getting eaten alive out here.” He grinned wider. “Must be because you’re so damn delicious.” Your stomach fluttered. What the fuck?

He pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek. You felt yourself relax into him, like his lips had sucked all of the tension from your body. You may not like him very much but you sure were glad he was here right now. Even without the facade, it was hard being in environments where you had to face your entire family alone. It’s not that you weren’t close with them, or didn’t love them, it was just difficult standing your own ground sometimes. You needed that extra shield for the invasive questions and high expectations, the anchor to keep you firmly in place, sure of yourself. It was a tough act to balance.

He couldn’t deny that he’d gained some respect for you for how well you’d handled things. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d manage a family dynamic like this alone, even if he were part of it. He was kind of developing a soft spot for you, probably more than you were anyway. Okay, definitely more than you were. He wasn’t sure when it started. He’d had the message exchanges throughout the last week. He had the detailed notes about your life from start to finish to divulge. The 3 hour car journey where you refused to play music, instead forcing him to answer questions about you in preparation for the event. It was somewhere amongst there. Maybe even when you’d shared a room the past two nights without killing each other. In seeing a vulnerable side of you that made you appear a little more human. He’d also seen a larger portion of you without clothing, that certainly helped.

Yes. Perhaps somewhere around there he’d liked you. All he knew now was that in watching your interactions with your family, it made him want to stick to you like glue and support you the best he could for however long you would let him. You had it covered, and you’d tell him that too, afraid of showing any weaknesses, but that’s exactly why he felt like he should support you, he didn’t want you to feel so alone, you didn’t have to be so alone. He’d known all too well what that was like.

He didn’t even have to force himself to kiss your cheek that time, he’d just wanted to rid your face of the frown that threatened to grace it, even if he found it adorable. His issue now was that he had trouble moving away. His lips lingering, breath tickling your cheek, until you coughed under your breath for him to shift away. For a moment he’d wished it weren’t all play pretend. That he could stay there and have it not feel so strange. He couldn’t pin point when his eyes started to soften at the sight of you. All he knew was that they had. It was getting increasingly easier to act enamoured by you, because, well, he might have been.

“So, what did I miss?” He tilts his head towards the rest of the table, it felt like such a difficult task to withdraw his attention from you. You yourself took the opportunity to catch a much needed breath. You also needed to pat your stomach to hold off the swarm of butterflies scrambling around in there. There was this dizzying, uneasiness in the pit of your tummy, like you were fighting the emotions within yourself. Those damn love bugs were wasting their time going crazy for this situation. It wasn’t real, not worth the energy. Surely you didn’t need to be convinced of that, it was clear as day. You didn’t need this unnecessary nausea. “We were just talking about what a wonderful couple you are.” Your brother in law speaks, directing his attention towards the man at your side. You really thought you’d liked that man, he betrayed you. You kept a special scowl just for him. He felt hot under the collar when he felt the intensity of it. Good, you thought. Traitor.

Eddie bravely dipped his hand down onto your thigh where he’d noticed your hand was already resting, slipping his fingers between yours, resting atop your knuckles effortlessly for all to see. You’d felt your breath hitching in your throat. The simplicity of the action shouldn’t have caused such a stir, but it was just so easy for him. He was so touchy feely like it was the most natural thing in the world. He loved to touch, and you never expected it from him. It was one of the main reasons that made it so hard to remain sure that this was all an act. Was he like this with everyone? You’d half hoped he wasn’t, even if your other half screamed at you for that naivety. It wasn’t exactly your love language, but you’d wished it were, you wanted to touch him. Too many drinks maybe.

“Why do I feel like that’s sarcasm?” He threw back with nothing but charm, sweet like honey dripping from his tongue. If he weren’t in a band you could certainly picture him as an actor with some of the crap he pulled. Sometimes he even had you believing this whole thing, lines blurring like no other. Especially when nuzzled his nose into your neck eliciting a squeal from your lips. All before deciding to stay there, sitting with his chin resting on your shoulder happily. Like the most casual position in the world.

Your heart pounded against your chest. His arm slunk around your waist. His mouth opened for you, signalling you to bring his cocktail and straw between his lips to take a sip. A ridiculously over the top public display of affection you swore you’d never partake in. Yet for some reason your hands were ignoring every judgment your mind was making, allowing you to feed him his drink like some kind of mother to a parched child. It was interesting to you how fast you’d been able to communicate with him like that without it ever needing to be said or asked for. “You owe me.” You whisper. “Not how this transaction really works.” He says between sips rather impressively. It might even be considered cute if it wasn’t such a threat. Your cheeks burned.

“It just seems so sudden.” Your sister just can’t bite back her tongue for more than two seconds huh. You’re literally sat there with giant, red, beaming heart eyes for each other. So, close your personal space would never be described as such for as long as you shall live, ever again. Literally feeding each other. Squeezing each other’s hands. Hating every second you’re apart. Feeling like you may break without the other. Whispering sweet nothings (more like threats but no one else had spotted that) into each other’s ears. You’re both so over the top, overwhelmingly infatuated (although falsely) with each other you may as well claim this engagement party as your own and YET, no one believed you for a second. Hell, even you thought you might be falling. Thank you vodka.

“When you know, you know.” You say, lifting your hand to pat his cheek after putting his drink back on the table. He squeezes your other hand instinctively. He’d almost forgotten he was holding it in the first place, it felt so nice and soft, like it belonged in his. It could belong there. “What will it take to convince you?” He offers. You squeeze his hand even harder, this time hoping to pump the breaks on this one. As much as you appreciated him sticking up for the relationship. You weren’t up for a quick fire round of questions that you weren’t prepared in the slightest. Especially since he refused to learn the answers to any potential enquiries a day prior. Deeming the impromptu quiz session in the car ‘enough learning for a lifetime.’

“Ed,” is all you warn while you beg him to shut up with your mind instead. “No, no sweetie, we can answer all the questions they have.” He grinned at you so menacingly; you wanted to wipe that smirk right off his adorably smug little face. Woah. When did he become adorable? Scratch that. Shush. You’re so pissed you don’t even fawn over the pet name, much. You may as well pack your bags now and return home though, you were done for, the hoax was over. The end.

“What’s her favourite band?” Okay, we’re actually doing this. “Or singer, if that’s easier.” Ryan, your least favourite brother in law and your only brother in law, fires out. He only knew the answer himself because he tried to impress you one Christmas by buying you a limited edition vinyl. Of all the people at this table, you thought at least he wouldn’t be sceptical of you. Unbelievable.

“There isn’t just one, its multiple, depends what mood she’s in.” You’re intrigued already on where this is going. Your sister jeered at the response, already less than impressed. Eddie turns his head, lifting his hand to silence her before she can say anything. You almost pat him on the back for it. “But, if I had to choose.” Which he did. He really did. “Queen, Black Sabbath, and I’m going to add Corroded Coffin in there because she’s our number one groupie, aint that right babe?” You allow yourself to roll your eyes at the last part, even if you were dating you doubt you’d let him describe you as a groupie, dick.

“That’s easy, they’re pretty generic choices.” You had to give them that one, it wasn’t the most cut throat list of indie artists you could only associate with your taste and yours only. You’d been a bit of a basic music lover your whole life and there was no shame in that. You liked what you liked and that was okay. You were still impressed he knew any of your list though. Maybe he actually had read your notes, lying shit. Definitely not adorable. “Favourite food?” Okay, still going. You lean back, may as well get comfortable since you’re going to be here for a while.

He snorted before answering that one and you wondered what was so insanely funny that could make him move his hand away from your thigh to explain it properly. You missed his touch the second you were without it. Gag. “Bread.” He giggled just saying it, the kind of giggle where the creases beside his eyes really stood out and his cheeks bunched up all precious and pudgy underneath them. You can’t help but smile.

“But not just plain bread right,” he looked to you before continuing as if to say ‘hey, watch this, look at me.’ He thinks he has you down. You indulge him. “So, bread in its many forms,” he lifted his fingers to start listing, “sandwiches, toast, brioche, fried bread, french toast, pizza dough, the list goes on right but at the height of it all,” he really gestured above his head to signify the detailed tier system of bread options. He added a small and useless breather to gain anticipation, it wasn’t working. “Garlic bread.”

You snorted a laugh yourself this time. Not because he was wrong either, because he was 100% correct in fact. You were mortified that, that was your own answer. He locked eyes with you in a way that he hadn’t done before, with genuine affection, maybe even a glimmer of hope that he’d done you justice. He was captivated by you, your cheeks bursting with redness, your smile tight, starting to hurt you in fighting it. You looked so pretty right now. The glow of the lamps out in this beer garden just added to the radiance he already thought you had. He couldn’t believe a girl as pretty as you considered bread your favourite food.

He also found the noise you made to be one of the cutest things he’d ever heard, and he wished he could make you do it again someday. He really didn’t consider himself that funny though. He might have to get some drinks down you for another laugh like that. “I thought your favourite were sour patch kids?” Your sister argued, using her nails again to assist her point. Eddie quickly chimed in before you could go to correct her.

“Actually, that was her hyper fixation for a little while, ate every flavour except lemon. Which are my favourite, so it works out pretty well.” Your jaw may as well have hit the floor. He’d only known that from the car ride up here. You were about to throw the packet out before he stopped you, complaining you were wasting money and food since you left all the yellow ones. You were shocked he remembered. If you were impressed by him right now, surely everyone else had to be too, right? Wrong.

“Celebrity crush?” He answered this quicker than you or he would like to admit. You also just didn’t know how he came to the conclusion he did and how he was so correct with it, suspicious. “Harrison Ford hands down, can’t even knock it, he’s a handsome man.” The next question went swimmingly too. “Favourite hobby?” He gave it a thought for a second, glancing to you and back, “painting, she’ll say she’s no good at it but actually she’s got a gift. I’ve never seen anyone use colour the way she does. Actually, considered using some of your work for album art.” He turned to you towards the end, and you struggled to decipher whether it was bullshit or not. Your heart actually ached at the thought of it being true.

“Favourite movie?” Your brother in law’s turn to ask. You threw your head back in exasperation. “What is this, the Spanish inquisition? Is this really necessary?” You looked to your sister and her future husband. “Yes!” They admitted in unison. Eddie’s hand returned to your thigh, patting it softly, his thumb rubbing soothing shapes into your bare skin. It was working. God it was working. He was like ice against your fire, the way he cooled you.

“I’ve got this.” He assured you. “Yeah, you kind of do, that’s why it’s so fucking weird.” You admitted quietly but not enough as to hide it from anyone else, deeming it safe for public consumption. He smirked. “Scared I know too much about you?” You were. You were terrified. This time you do lower your voice. “Just didn’t know you could actually read. Guess my notes were a great help after all.” You stuck your tongue out. For a second he thought about taking it in his mouth, probably some other filthier thoughts floated around his brain too. It was something about the proximity and the cocktails you’d shared, you could always blame those.

“Anything Tim Burton but her favourite would have to be the one with Winona,” he knows he has it right, but he just can’t think of the name, turning to you momentarily for help, you mouthed “Edward Scissorhands” before he nodded and repeated it. Considering it featured his own name, you’d think he would remember it. He then paused, not for dramatic effect but so he could smile to himself as he thought about why that was your favourite. “It depicts the whole Frankenstein’s monster thing just finding his way into suburbia but we as the audience” he gestured to his chest, “see a lot more heart than that, an innocent kind of love, one we all want to make us feel worthy, naive really, but ultimately sweet and sacrificing.”

You leant in, your lips close to his ear. “If we were really dating, you’d be getting your dick sucked so hard tonight.” It took every bone in his body not shut the evening down and carry you back to your hotel room with that false promise in mind. He instead tried to ignore the now throbbing sensation in his trousers. Had you always done that to him?

“Ok those are fairly standard.” In what world was his last answer not specifically catered to you? “How about a random trivia round?…” The suggestions just kept going. If this were the only worthy form of entertainment they could find, married life was going to be abysmal. “Or.” He began and this is when you really, really started to panic, like exponentially. There was nothing that could have helped him out now. Your notes only consisted of the likes, dislikes, and the fake scenario in which you first met. There was nothing else. That was the end of the script. He couldn’t be that good at improvisation. You didn’t want the opportunity to find out either. You were no casting director. He no longer had to impress you or anyone else. If they were still at odds with the situation then so be it. You couldn’t please everyone. It really shouldn’t have taken you that long to realise it. Huh. The more you know.

“I can tell you about how she makes me feel.” You really, truly would rather you didn’t know. If it’s the truth, it would hurt. If it was a lie, well that might hurt even more. You begged the universe to keep him quiet. Whatever he had to say was going to blow your cover and throw this whole shit show up in flames. Your sister seemed so keen and intrigued enough to let him continue. You however, said your final goodbyes to any future you had where you weren’t a laughing stock for the entire family. A future where Eddie Munson couldn’t reject and discard you publicly. Now it was a very real possibility, you were far more upset than you ever thought you would be. Eddie glances at you briefly, bucking up the courage to put on the biggest and most detrimental show of his entire life.

He doesn’t face your sister when the words come tumbling from his mouth. He faced you, addressing you like he needed you to hear this and fuck, maybe he did. You actually felt touched about it until he opened his mouth. “You’re kind of a fucking weirdo.” You went to shut him up as the embarrassment crept in, but he spoke louder as he often did. “You are, you’re a freak- and it’s so, it’s refreshing.” Your mouth closed but oh, so slowly. You began to listen to him, decided to trust him. “You’re fucking nuts.” You rolled your eyes. How many ways were there, to describe you as crazy? Why did he feel the need to use all of them? “But I like it. I do. I feel like I can be myself around you.” He talked with his hands a lot as he scrambled the words, rings clinking against each other. You reached for them, settling them in your lap and he silently thanked you for it. Everything got a whole lot easier when you held his hand.

“You make it feel okay to be a bit crazy. You don’t have to be so straight or basic, you can just, be.” Just as you started to smile, you saw that you weren’t the only one. It was working, his little speech was actually working. “I like who I am around you. Even if sometimes you don’t. I like that you tell me when I piss you off. I like that you act like you hate me when you don’t. I like that you’re so fucking stubborn and headstrong you’d never rely on anyone else and that pisses me off.” You felt tingling racing across your chest. “I love that no moment with you feels forced. That, that smile, right there could make flowers bloom.” He gestured to your face with both of your hands linked together. “That your glare could cause a fucking storm or something.” You tried not to get swept up in the fact he’d stopped saying ‘like.’

“I love that everything feels okay when your hand is in mine, even when you try and say you don’t like holding hands, you’re too good at it to hate it. You know exactly the right moments.” He shook his head with a disbelief. It started to feel so real. “I think I’d miss you even if I’d never met you.” His hand tightened around yours when he said his last sentence. “And I’m glad I met you. I hope one day you’ll be glad you met me too.” The rest of his speech hadn’t mattered when he uttered those words. The words that knocked the breath out of you, leaving you fighting for your life in the seat next to him. You don’t think anyone had ever referred to you so kindly in your life, even if he did call you fucking mental at least 5 times throughout.

He couldn’t even breathe. He’d said it. He’d let it all out and now he just saw the look of shock on your face and couldn’t take a single breath, not knowing how you’d react. It was news to him too though. He could play it off as a lie, say he saw it in a movie, some chick flick or something. He’d copied it because of course he had. But then again, on the off chance you weren’t horrified, he wasn’t sure if he had any more guts left to tell you it was true. He just knew that he needed to do something. He had to fill this painful silence somehow and thankfully, he didn’t have to do it alone.

You kissed him. You scraped your jaw off the floor, and you kissed him. You’d not kissed him like this before. Like your life depended on it. Like he was the very air you needed to breathe. Like he’d meant every word he’d just said, and you’d believed it. God you might have even felt the same. You were also slightly ashamed to say, it had your panties soaking between your thighs. Not to mention your heart thundering in your chest.

Eddie kissed you as if he were tattooing his words across your lips for all of eternity. Because for the first time throughout this whole charade, he was actually allowed to mean every word he had said, whether he knew this was how he was feeling at the start of the evening or not. Neither of you could have predicted a confession like this. Even after giving one, he wasn’t quite believing it himself. But fuck, there was freedom in it. There was a lovely form of permanence. Him knowing his words were out there for the universe to take and make with what it will. He felt weightless. It wasn’t the cocktails. Something just clicked in his brain, and he knew it. You were everything.

You melted into each other when his lips found yours. It was sweet and slow but confident, with purpose. Each stroke of his lips against yours carefully considered and carried out like clockwork. You’d felt a rush from this kiss. It was hungrier than any other you’d shared. Quite frankly it was starved. You’d pressed up against him so hard and he’d done just the same to you. His hands coming up to tilt your chin up towards him for more. As if you hadn’t been close enough already. Its only when you gasped at his touch did he slip his tongue into your mouth. You knew he’d had so much practice kissing women like this, but you couldn’t care. You allowed him inside, welcomed the way he licked into your mouth delicately. Blissfully enjoying the taste of his last cigarette on his breath, shocked that it’s not even a put off for you right now.

His words had gotten you drunker than the cocktails you’d been knocking back all evening. You almost whined when he dragged himself away from you. It was way too premature for your liking. Your eyes remained on him and only him as your hands fell back from their place atop his shoulders. You weren’t even sure when they’d gotten there in the first place, just swept away with nothing but him to guide you.

He smiled at you; a smile you know he hadn’t been pretending. You were about to lean back in, sealing that gap between you, before you were reminded of exactly where you were. In public. Very much in public. You sank back into your seat sheepishly, heat rising to your cheeks, burning hot like lava ready to erupt. Eddie threw his arm around you, and you seized the opportunity to hide your face in the crook of his neck out of embarrassment. He thought it might be the cutest thing you could possibly have done. He even struggled to wipe the blush off his own cheeks. He felt like a school boy again. “Okay, fine, we believe you.” Your sister threw her hands up in defeat. You’d forgotten what you were even aiming to prove, your head was so flooded with hormones. It remained that way until you were back inside the hotel.

Back in the safety of your room, deep in the darkness, the only light being from the glowing orange streetlights outside, you found yourself nervous for what would come next. You needed a moment to think. “I’m going to take a shower.” You said softly. “Do you mind?” He shook his head, unable to speak. You’d think that after he’d already lay everything down on the table, that he’d find it easier to approach you, but he resorted back to silence. “Go ahead.” He offered. You wanted to ask him to join you. You didn’t. You just thought about it while you locked the bathroom door behind you. When you wiped off your makeup. When you turned the water on and waited for it to heat up before stripping and stepping inside. You thought about it even under the water, arm stretched out to reach you shampoo. You still didn’t.

He’s already tucked away under the sheets, while you’re in there. He thought about falling asleep, willing himself into a trance before you could return, he couldn’t. His mind was swimming with thoughts. He instead insured that the wall of cushions you’d built on night one, was as high as it ever was. There to wedge a distance between you once more. Which is what you wanted, right? It was your main housekeeping rule for sharing a bed.

“Hey." He breathed, as you returned from the bathroom, steam seeping out after you. He was nervous. You ignored it. He lay flat, facing the ceiling, his arms fastened at his sides above the covers. You shouldn’t let your eyes wander but the light had given you a clear path to follow, leading you to the tattooed arachnid of his chest. You wanted to touch it, you’re not sure why. You slipped silently into bed beside him, only you turned your back on him, willing the conversation to end. But you didn’t actually want it to be over.

He rolled over without so much as a creak being made on the old bed. He barely even tugged the cover from you. It’s like a move too sudden would spook you and send you running, it might have, he couldn’t be certain. “Do you think the great wall of prevention might be ready to come down?” He nudged it into your back for emphasis. He didn’t want the night to end. You didn’t either. And yet, your stomach twisted to think of an excuse, a reason for it to stay very much where it was. Only you didn’t find one. “Okay.” You spoke softly. “Okay.” He repeats just as low, just making sure. You hardly felt him moving them. It was so unlike him to be so gentle, so light handed, treading carefully. He was so cautious and calculated, you never thought he had it in him. The cushions were gone. Now what?

“I’m gonna ask you something, you don’t have to say yes, but I really need to ask it so please just hear me out.” There were a million different things he could have asked you; you’d never have enough time to predict it or rehearse the correct answer, you could only breathe as you anticipated it. “Can I hold you?” It felt good to say it, even if his breath was shaky and his heart felt like it might just pack in. He really wanted to touch you. That was before he even saw you there, lay in the warm glow of the light, hair still a little damp, loose over your shoulder, your t-shirt clinging to your body.

The sheets weren’t covering your lower half as well as you’d thought they were, not now the barrier between you was down. Now he could see the lace band of your panties peeking bellow your sleep shorts. He was about to abandon the whole ordeal. Just a peek shouldn’t have been enough to stir him between his legs and maybe it wasn’t, not on its own. But if he’d counted every other occasion tonight where you’d looked too pretty, sounded too sweet, it all added up and he guessed it contributed to the problem.

He started to worry when you didn’t answer him. You obviously weren’t asleep. You were clearly fiddling with the sheets, your fingers tugged at the material anxiously. He’d completely overstepped, he should have expected that. You weren’t together. You wouldn’t ever be together. That was all this entire weekend was supposed to be after all. Just an opportunity to fake it. How could he be so stupid? “Come here.” He looks down to see you half turned back to him, the duvet lifted, giving him even more of a view of your shorts, but he tried not to look at you too much. To just see the invitation, which was what mattered the most.

He wasn’t sure how to approach, you couldn’t help him either. You would spoon, that was a given, you hadn’t budged your position, left him no choice but to mould his body around yours. He shuffled closer, awkwardly trying to stretch his right arm underneath your pillow without lifting your head, hurting your neck. He curled around your back, leaving inches between you, like he couldn’t quite make himself grow any closer. His left arm rested on his own hip, too afraid to reach out and touch yours. He’d asked to hold you. Why can’t he hold you?

You took matters into your own hands. You blindly reached behind you, hands finding his. Your one superpower. You interlock your fingers with his and bring his arm around your waist, the heat of his body coming with it. You could probably feel his heart pounding chest now he allowed it to press against your back. You definitely felt the goosebumps climbing his arms when you pressed a feather light kiss to his knuckle. His heart leapt in his chest.

“What was that for?” He lifted his head, you don’t know it, but he can see enough of your face from this angle to catch the blush on your cheeks and the smile that crept onto it. He’s reassured by it. “Just felt like it.” You shrugged. Only he doesn’t buy it, but he won’t push his luck. His head hit the pillow, only this time, he’s closer to you. His nose is nearly buried in your apple scented locks. You were so sweet smelling at all times, but that apple was just so incredibly you. He knew you’d only used the stuff because it came in a green bottle too. Because only you would map your product selection on the colour alone. It was one of the first facts in your note cards, that your favourite colour was green.

Fuck. He thinks. He really fucking liked you. He wouldn’t even curse himself for it. You weren’t what he expected, and he liked that. He liked that this didn’t go to plan. He liked that he couldn’t pretend any longer. He was grinning to himself, chuckling even. He boldly buried his head in the crook of your neck like he’d done a couple of times that night but more invasively now there wasn’t much space between you.

“What’s so funny?” You shook his hand in yours. “Hmm?” You fought a laugh yourself; his laughter was infectious; it was just stupid and cute and stupid. “Gareth was right.” He said. You turned your head back slightly, unable to see anything really, before giving up and leaning into the pillow again. “Bout what?” He leaned his head on your shoulder, lips nearing your ear. “Told me this wouldn’t work.” Interesting really, since he ushered you into asking him into this at the start. You’re suitably confused. He’s holding you, giggling in your ear, body warm against yours in this stupidly large bed that he’d made feel tiny, after convincing your family how in love you are, and he said it wasn’t working. That Gareth, your biggest influencer, had also predicted it. Well, you’d have said the opposite.

“This isn’t working.” You have a questioning tone. “Didn’t seem like that downstairs.” You were defensive, rightly so. “No, not like that.” He started. Your grip on his hand loosened and he panicked. ‘Just say what you mean, say what you mean,’ he tells himself. “Turn over.” He leant himself up, still firmly on his side. “Why?” He rolled his eyes. “Please turn over.” He pleaded. “Whyy?” You say again. “Fuck, would you just-“ he shook his hand free from yours, placing it firmly on your hip and he twisted you, so you were flat on your back, facing up at him with surprise. He didn’t expect that to work as well as it did.

“You’re so fucking annoying.” He huffed. “Thanks.” Your arms crossed over your stomach, you tried to avoid his gaze, but he manoeuvred himself so that he was directly above you. He decided you couldn’t be trusted to keep you gaze anywhere but on him. You had to give him a shot. Your expression had softened at the sight of him. Just like he’d hoped. His stupid round cheeks. The dumb smile. Why was he always smiling?

“I wanna kiss you.” He said. You thought he was childish. “Is holding not enough?” He shook his head. “Never enough.” He leaned in close, but he doesn’t kiss you, not yet. His forehead just pressed against yours, his lips hovered, breath tickling your own mouth. “Can I?” He begged for it. “Yes.” You breathed. He does. His lips brush yours and it’s just as nice as every other kiss he’d given you. You’re not sure why you expected it to be different all of a sudden. You just had the idea that maybe it would be. Now that you, well now that you actually liked it.

But it wasn’t different, it was exactly the same. “Eddie.” You whined. “Yeah?” He was upset that you’d interrupted such a crucial moment. “It doesn’t feel like I thought it would.” Your fingers stroked over his cheek; he arched a brow to question you. “We have kissed before; you remember that right?” He teased. You couldn’t have been that drunk. “Yes. Shut up. That’s not what I meant.” He’s still not on the same page although relieved somewhat that you were in fact sober like he thought.

In his mind that kiss was perfect, electrifying, mind blowing, the best kiss yet, you’d have known it too if you didn’t stop him so quickly. “What’s it feel like?” He tried to understand. You thought for a moment. What did it feel like? Warm, soft, sweet, he was one of the sweetest tastes. Where most men would taste of mint, Eddie didn’t. He tasted like cigarettes and the kiwi and strawberry gum he chewed to mask the scent of them on his breath. It didn’t work completely, it more meshed together into its own unique flavour.

It felt nice. “Feels normal.” You said it like it was a bad thing and he can’t understand why. “What’s so wrong with that?” You tried to shake your head. Shake some sense into yourself. You were blowing it. “Kiss me again.” You didn’t have to ask him twice. He pushed his lips against yours, harder than the first time, much harder. Barely leaving a gap between you. Suffocating you with his kiss. He feels like this time he has to try harder; he needed to give you his all. There had to be more.

His lips glided over yours, his lips rough but still careful. His tongue poking out slowly, licking gently over your bottom lip. You part it instinctively and the second his tongue slithered across your teeth, you finally felt it. You don’t know why it took you till the second try. You’re so grateful you felt it at all, but you were panicking for a second, thinking you’d made this huge mistake because how could you let yourself fall for him after all this nonsense? Then you felt it, that spark kicking you to life. That fire in your belly, burning you up inside, begging for his coolness to dampen it down. You fucking needed him.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails tucking into them just a little. He’s feeling the heat radiating from you, your energy pouring into him. He’s smiling against your mouth as your tongue meets his briefly. He just knows that this time, he’s got you. “You had me worried there for a second.” He panted, not wanting to pull away but needing to say something. You kissed him over and over, distracting him. Now you’d started, you couldn’t stop. “I know, I’m so cruel.” He smirked, kissing you back just as vigorously, hand coming to your throat, resting gently on it before tilting your chin up towards him.

You captured his eyes, so dark, nearing black in the dim light. If it weren’t for the golden flecks you’d be convinced they really were that dark. “Had to be sure.” He pecked your lips. “Yeah?” You did the same. “Yeah.” He’s so close that every time his eyes closed and reopened, you felt his lashes fanning your cheeks. “And now?” He asked so hopefully, heart on the line as he waited on your answer. You wanted to make him wait, torture him a little, not tonight, tonight you were kind enough to put him out of his misery. “Now I want you.” You said. He could have punched the air with excitement.

You’re kissing again. Scrambling around, his body lowered on top of you, one hand resting on your cheek, the other grazing your hip bone. His body shuddered when you whimpered under the weight of him. You let your legs widen as he slipped between them, all before he lifted your thigh, depositing it safely around his waist. You prayed that he didn’t immediately feel the dampness in your shorts but you’re not the only one struggling.

His hard on rubbed into you, your lips parting with surprise. “Fuck.” He muttered, momentarily halting your make out session, the heat between your thighs overwhelming him. You sensed his embarrassment, his cheeks burning with it. “Me too.” You breathed. Lips pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose as your hand slipped between you, coming down to cup his bulge boldly through his shorts.

The groan he released is sinful, maybe even painful. He felt big. He felt impossibly big. He wouldn’t fit in your hand, maybe not even in the two of them. He thrust into your hand when he felt you touch him. It was his first instinct; he couldn’t fight it. “Shit, sorry.” You caught his lips, tugging his bottom one between your teeth, releasing it slowly. “Gonna move my hand, want you to do it again.” If he thought he was embarrassed at his neediness before, it was about to get a whole lot more mortifying.

Your hand moved away, he was grinding his hips down into you as you’d asked, and you felt the way his cock jumped into action. “Baby.” You panted. He’s sure his heart is going to explode, maybe his cock too, probably that first. “Say it again.” He needed it. “Baby.” You kissed him. He’s rocking his hips into you, you started rotating your own, rubbing yourself over his cock, hand moving out of the way. “Baby, baby, fuck.” He’s covered your lips with his, nose mashed up against you, you can’t breathe, you don’t even want to, you wouldn’t miss the feeling. All of this felt so much more important. “Feel so good.” You whine. He never would have thought you’d be so vocal. You didn’t seem like the type. Thought you’d be a bit of a brat maybe but not this, not confident and sexy and so sure of what you wanted. He could love that; he could love you.

“More, need more.” You’re eyes rolled back when he’s lifting your hips with both hands, pulling your core over him. His cock slipping through your folds through too many barriers of clothing. “Shit Ed.” You felt the sensation of fire burning into you, setting you alight. You’re dizzy and hot and you just felt so good against him. The friction of his shorts might have been frustrating, but it was also, so rewarding. It was such a good roughness against your clothed mound. “Are you?” He can’t even say it, too busy dragging you over his cock. “I’m, fuck, Eddie.” He doesn’t stop, not for a second, not for a beat. He makes you ride it out. He’s so stupidly proud of himself. He’d barely touched you and you’d come undone. You’d actually fucking came. “Fucking unreal for me.” He slowed himself down before he followed a similar path to destruction.

He’s pushing your hips back down, letting your body sink into the mattress, pulling away from you to catch a breath. “I can’t believe that.” Your hand floats through your hair combing it back. He’s resting back on his knees, still between your legs. “You’re so fucking hot.” His eyes don’t look anywhere but your face. Your shirt is half way up your chest, bare tits poking out for him to see and yet, he doesn’t look.

You can’t say you share the same sentiment. Your eyes raced to the outline of his erection in them grey basketball shorts. You drank in the sight before you and your teeth clamped down into your lower lip. He reached down to squeeze your thigh. “My eyes are up here.” He gestured with his index and middle finger. You smirked up at him. “Kind of wish they weren’t.” You didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah?” You nodded. Eyes falling back to his very, large problem that he now palmed through his clothing. Shit, even his own hand wouldn’t cover him.

“Gonna keep looking or do you feel like helping?” His voice was awfully steady for someone ready to come apart at the mere thought of your touch. “You want me to?” You’re not sure what you’re asking. “Need you to.” He said. You sat yourself up. “Gonna take this shirt off me first?” You looked up at him, eyes wider than he’d ever seen, somehow so innocent even though you were anything but. “Of course, I am.” His hands didn’t waste any time lifting the material off over your head. You felt the bite of a chill rush over you, your nipples hardening, perking up with it. “So, very, sexy.” He can’t believe his luck. You’re amazed that you don’t feel shy, being so exposed to him. Guess that was good, it felt natural, you felt safe.

“Gonna help you.” You warned, hands slipping down into his shorts. You gasped at the immediate contact with his bare skin. “No underwear.” He smirked down at you. “Fucking slut.” Your hand cupped him just like before, yeah, definitely needs more than one hand. “You love it.” He chanted “I do.” You confirmed, squeezing him hard. The rush of air that left his mouth, oh it made this all so worth it. You tried to be bolder, you took his length in your palm for the first time. You gripped him tight and moaned in unison. He moaned at the feeling of finding home in your soft touch. You moaned; at the way your hand can’t even wrap around him fully. He’s too thick, too girthy, there wasn’t enough of you to take it all.

“Do something.” He urged, forehead leaning on yours for stability more than anything else. “Ah right, that’s what I was doing.” You play as you sprang to action, your hand lifting to the throbbing head of his cock, letting the trickles of beaded cum roll into your palm before you can cover him in it using it whilst you twist your hand up and down his length. “Ohh, fuck.” It came out gravelly. He’d never thought much of hand jobs, said no to many throughout his life, never being worth the time, never feeling as good as his own hand. This though. You. Your hand. You touched him and he swore your hand was made to hold his cock. Even if that sounded ridiculous, there had to be some way of it being true because he felt so good. His cock was slick and hot, it glided through your grip with ease and your tightened fist on him, it was incredible.

You knew to tug him hard at the base, to loosen around his tip. To constantly use his pooling arousal to your advantage. You worked his cock better than anyone else could, maybe even better than him. You weren’t rushing, you didn’t wank him hard begging for it all to be over, getting bored of the feeling. No, you just touched him. Switching your pace. Listening to his hot little sounds. Paying attention to what made him twitch, what made him rut his hips into your palm. You loved touching him, you wanted to touch him forever, every which way you could.

He started fucking your hand. He’s not sure he can stop himself and you’re so turned on by it you actually moan. “What are you doing to me?“ He’d never felt like this before. You’d made him so weak. He was desperately thrusting into your fist like a pathetic little virgin, and you were moaning. He had to be making this up, you weren’t real, none of this could have been real. “Fuck Ed.” You’re soaked at the idea of it all, you even clenched down on fucking nothing, the thought of him inside you instead of just the palm of your hand, it’s too much to bear. “Need to fuck me.” You quicken your pace, your hand tugging at him desperately. “Fuck, fuck. Stop, you gotta stop.” He doesn’t want you to, God knows he doesn’t, but if you don’t, he’s gonna fucking bust all over your perfect little hand.

He forced your hand out of his shorts and you have the audacity to pout up at him when he does. “You’re something fucking else.” He pushed you back, your head drops happily onto your pillow. “Something good I hope.” You toyed with him, and he is about to lose it. “Take these off.” He tugged at your own shorts, and you didn’t budge. “Off.” He commands, climbing off the bed, feet hitting the cold wooden floor of the hotel room.

You shifted behind him, pulling your shorts and panties down your thighs, tossing the material to the general vicinity of your shirt. Your hands are once again in your hair, combing through it with nerves just eating away at you. You ached for him. Your thighs were squeezed so tightly shut you thought he might never pry them open again. You were on edge, literally dying there waiting. He’d dropped his shorts; they’d hit the ground quietly. He stepped out of them quickly, hand lifting to touch himself, he let out a quiet hiss when he did. He was so turned on, cock so tight and hot in his hand, he’d bury himself in you and never wish to leave.

He climbed back onto the bed, settling on his knees like he had before. His hand rolled delicately across his tip, soaking himself still, using his own arousal to ready himself for you. His cock had a wet sheen in the light. You thought it looked even more delicious now with a coating like that. Perhaps your legs would part after all. “You sure?” He thinks he knows your answer, but he’d hate himself if he didn’t check. This had all been so perfect, better than he could have ever imagined because God, his imagination wasn’t half as creative enough to make you up. You were far better than anyone he’d ever known. The more he knew you, the better you got. Each and every layer, prettier or wittier or more perfect. You must have been real. Real and a gift made just for him because you had him hook line and sinker. He was dumb to credit himself for thinking he imagined you a few moments ago.

“Fuck me.” You spoke. He shook his head. Leaning over you, tip throbbing hard when it breached your walls for the first time before making a heady retreat, running through your slick, wet, lips instead. “Can’t.” He said. Running his cock up and down, eyes flickering shut, throat drying with his pure fucking thirst for you. “Why not?” You furrowed your brow. He’s right there, all he had to do was enter you. You could just lift your hips and he’d slip his fat cock inside. “Can’t call this fucking, not when you feel this good.” You think you might have passed out when pushed inside of you. “Oh, fuck.” He covered your lips to catch your moan. He didn’t think about the fact he’d be sinking in further, bottoming out, pelvis to pelvis with you when he did.

Your legs wrapped around him so tightly your heels began to dig into his tasty, round backside. You fasten him in place intentionally. You needed to feel him. Needed to feel him in his entirety, pulsing inside you. He bit down on your shoulder till he tasted a metal zing of fresh blood, he’d apologise at a later date. For now, he needed it. You were sopping wet around him, engulfing his cock in a warm, tight sleeve. With each breath you took he slipped a little bit further inside. You felt so full you’d felt him bulging in your stomach, so far inside you it even hurt you.

“I need to move, gotta let me move.” He locked eyes with you before you nodded, loosening your legs, letting him withdraw his hips, pulling right back away from you, tip nearly leaving the crevice of your wetness. Then he pushed back in, all the way, hips against hips and you fucking moaned. You moaned so loud he thought he hurt you, ready to withdraw and panic at that thought. But then you lifted your hips to meet his. You meet his next thrust and then the next, and the next. You don’t let him do a damn thing without your involvement. You needed to be in this together because what’s the fucking point if you can’t give each other your all?

“You’re so wet, soaking me.” You can only sigh, you’re not sorry, he got you so damn good he ought to be proud. “So damn hot. Gonna need to change the fucking sheets.” He rambled on. His hands dig delicious bite marks into your hips. Yours place a similar attack atop his shoulders. “Feel unreal.” You captured his lips in a needy kiss, chest pushing up as your back arched involuntarily. “Very real, so fucking real.” You muttered. As your back arched further, Eddie found a place within you, a sensitive spot he angled into unexpectedly. A place you’d only ever touched yourself. You shook, and you clenched down on him, hard.

He’d be an idiot not to notice it. You were clamping down so much he worried he’d lose circulation all together. “You want me dead don’t you?” He slammed his hips down into you. “Won’t be happy till I’m not fit for anyone else, that it?” His chest flattened against yours, his cock reaching that angle even more intrusively than before and you’re about to scream for it.

He’s got so much pressure leaning against it you’re about to crumble and he doesn’t even know it. “Eddie.” You panicked, hands snaking into his hair, tugging his brown ringlets. He couldn’t get any closer to you and yet you needed it, wanted him covering you. “Fuck, you’re, fuck are you cumming?“ He leaned his head back, looking down into your eyes, you have tears brimming in them and he can’t believe it, he was so right. “Please, please don’t stop.” Your voice came out so weak, soft, precious, and broken and he thought you sounded like a needy little princess when you begged for him like that. “Anything, anything for you.” He meant it too.

His hand wrapped around your throat loosely and tenderly as he coaxed your second orgasm from you. Your scream caught in your throat. He kissed you hard, breathing life erratically back into you. The way you tightened around his cock has his eyes roll back into his skull, his teeth biting down hard on your plump, cherry lips. He’s so close to cumming himself, but he will not let himself go until you’ve done it first. He had to make it through. He had to feel the way you came around his dick for the first time. Needed it imbedded in his brain as the religious experience it certainly felt like it would be.

“Eddie, Eddie,” you’re not even aware you’re yelling his name out there. You just do it. That’s what gets him in the end. Your pretty little voice wrapping around his name, securing the idea that he was in fact the guy who’d made you crumble into a mess in these sheets, twice. It was all him. “Where, fuck, where do you-“ he can’t even say it, can’t get the words out. “In me, need it in me, please baby.”

He did as you asked, his hips pulsing into you, cock sputtering, leaking his hot cum inside you. You felt it all. Deep inside, covering you, damning you. You were claimed from the inside out. There wasn’t a single piece of you that wasn’t marked as his now. If you hadn’t felt full before, you certainly did now. His cum filling you entirely, anything his cock couldn’t previously reach was now pressured by him cum flooding inside you and it was so unbelievably good. You sighed heavily at the thought of it. “So, fucking good.” You muttered. Him filling you was just so erotic to you. He’d felt exactly the same because of course he did, he was made for you. He loved that you’d let him take you like that. It felt heavenly pouring himself into you, coating you in his colours. Pulling out might just be the hardest thing he’d ever have to do.

His body covered yours. He’s no strength to hold himself above you, but no way of pulling away just yet. You’d not minded his weight at all. You’d actually enjoyed it, felt comforted by it. Even if your bodies were sweat soaked and desperately in need of another shower, it felt nothing but perfect lying here a little longer. Your fingers massaged into his scalp, he hummed at the relief of your touch. His breathing slowed down, softly blowing over your chest where his head lay comfortably.

You decided you loved the sound of him breathing. You can’t explain exactly why that is, but it offered you some kind of comforting stimulation that you think you’d listen to happily for hours. The mere existence of him, being enough to soothe you. “So that, uh-“ he licked his bottom lip, wetting the dryness there. “That happened.” You heart leaped and you know he felt it. “Don’t make it weird.” You nearly begged. “I’m not making it weird.” You poked his head. “You’re making it weird.” You accused, poking him again. “Would you stop?”

He lifted his head this time to avoid another attack. Well fuck. If he thought you looked beautiful before, it had nothing on the way you looked now. You were flustered and tired, your eyes wet with tears and probably sweat and yet, gorgeous. “You’re staring.” He hated you. “I can’t stop.” He’s lying. He could, he just never wanted to. “What will people think?” You gasped. “How will we tell them?” He continued, following your train of thought like he’d conjured it himself.

“Well, what do we actually have to tell? You know, to get our story straight.” He knew that was your not-so-subtle way of asking what you were, after all of this, but he doesn’t mind it because he’d also liked to know. As cliché as it was. It really did happen that fast. “Well,” he rubbed your cheek with the back of his hand, watching as your face leaned into his touch. “Your family think we’re in love so, that’s kind of handled.” You laughed. “That you’re way of confessing your love for me?” You dig with a smile. “No.” Yes. But it was way too soon to verbalise that. Sure, you’d known him for a while, but this weekend was the closest you’d ever been. And yeah, he may have felt it in his bones, but he wasn’t crazy enough to admit it to you. Jesus Christ. “So, it’s just, everyone else.” He nodded, then repeated after you. “Everyone else.” Easier said than done.

“What if I uh, slip you another 200?” He rolled his eyes. Only you would ask that. “Oh, because I haven’t whored myself out enough?” You grinned. “Well, if the shoe fits baby.” He nudged your nose with his own. “No but seriously, what would 200 get me?” You tried to deadpan but the smile refused to leave you. “I’m refunding it by the way.” You feigned shock. “My money not good enough for you Munson?” He looked at you with a ‘you really asking me that?’ look on his face. Though technically, you hadn’t actually given the money to him yet. “Only asked for it because I knew it’d piss you off sweetheart.” That hadn’t surprised you at all. “I dragged my ass to the bank for nothing.” He thought he might howl with laughter.

“You got cash out?” There he goes, those chubby fucking cheeks, the crinkling eyes. “You actually withdrew 200 bucks for me?” You wanted the bed to swallow you whole. “I DON’T EXACTLY HAVE YOUR BANK DETAILS EDWARD!” You yelled and he laughed harder, nearly rolling off you all together until he remembered he was still very much inside of you. “I’m so fucking dumb.” You face palmed with the embarrassment of it all. “You kinda are.” He agreed. He knew you’d hate his lack of support. “I like em dumb though.” He also knew he deserved the flick you gave him. “We’ll get you to the bank tomorrow, don’t you worry babe.” This time you didn’t flick him. “Not going anywhere tomorrow.” You sighed, arms wrapping around him. His stomach fluttered when you held him like that. “Why, what you got planned?“ He nuzzled his face happily into your breast, his spare hand squishing the other nicely. “Gonna get my fucking money’s worth that’s what.”

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things smut

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