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blueywrites · 2 years

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Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

TO KNOW YOU'RE MINE (modern!swingers!au) (18+ only)

eddie munson x chrissy cunningham x steve harrington x you

fem!reader, chubby!reader, minimal use of y/n, body insecurity, swingers, smut, fingering (v), p in v, praise kink, emotional sex, angst, hurt no comfort (there will be a happy ending!)

chapter seven : entombed (18k) | playlist | AO3 | next

🎵 in this au, deftones=corroded coffin. the playlist is a combination of R's sad girl music vibes and some foreshadowing. the song for this chapter is #24.

From the day you arrived

I've remained by your side

In chains

Entombed

Entombed — Deftones

The bathroom countertop is solid white. The sink is recessed, and the faucet is modern and angular, reflected in the tall mirror mounted to the wall behind it. The mirror also reflects the shower behind you. It has a glass front, and the walls are comprised of large white and gray marblesque tiles. The fixtures— the rainfall showerhead, drain, shower knob, and handle— are all chrome to match the sink faucet and the modern, conical lights that frame the mirror.

It's bright inside the bathroom. The lightbulbs are LED, cool-toned, and the wall lights are joined by discs recessed into the ceiling. Even the smooth wooden vanity beneath the countertop is light birch, and on the lowest shelf near your ankle, two fluffy white hand towels are still folded, as yet unused. The bathroom is radiant and clean. Perfect for a beach location. Plenty of light for preparing for a fun night out.

No dark corners to hide in.

There's another, smaller mirror on the countertop. It's curved, meant to magnify and assist in the even application of makeup. A neat row of tiny bottles lines a narrow tray on the other side of the sink: hand lotion, shampoo, conditioner, then mouthwash. In another dish, a creamy bar of hand soap has already been revealed. Its discarded wrapper is in the small trashcan near the toilet.

The thin door is a buffer between yourself and the indistinct murmur of voices outside. The murmuring is audible, but the words are indiscernible. When that murmuring is buried underneath smooth R&B that begins playing on the other side of the door, you finally meet your gaze in the mirror.

Your cheeks glow with a healthy flush. The milk and honey of your satin dress hugs your curves, dipping low to reveal ample cleavage, slitted high to expose a supple thigh. The sweat from the club has dried now in the cool air of the room where you've been hiding.

You've examined every feature of this hotel bathroom to distract yourself from the overwhelming wave of mixed emotions you've been battling since the Uber ride back from the club. In the backseat, a khaki thigh pressing to yours; soft, broad fingers played in your hair. On his other side, a flash of orange and powdery soft giggles; arms intertwining, porcelain and tan. In front of you, an angular shoulder shifting with the car's turns, peeking beyond the passenger seat; a splay of dark curls against the white fabric. Just four tipsy friends sharing a ride back to their hotel room after a fun night out vacationing in a tropical city. Outside, your lips were curved in an idle smile. Inside, the tide of your emotions threatened to pull you under.

The intensity of the night's moments between you and Eddie— kissing him in the middle of the crowded dance floor, holding his gaze during the fireworks show— hadn't faded. You felt raw, like an exposed nerve; your green searched for him even with Steve's warm side brushing against yours. But the trepidation had returned, resurging as you'd imagined what your play tonight would look like. Because when you'd pictured Chrissy touching Eddie, you'd felt a sour pinch of jealousy, a hint of possessiveness you aren't entitled to. And because, when you'd pictured yourself kissing Steve, you'd felt a twinge of impatience. As if tonight he would be an obstacle keeping you from what you really want.

You've been oozing with thick, sticky guilt since you'd thought it.

You can't deny that your remaining guilt isn't the only reason you're still hiding in the bathroom. You're also hesitant to emerge and find yourself thrust into one of those scenarios you'd imagined, knowing that your green will tremble restlessly until it finds the light in brown eyes and the charcoal that nourish it. Still, when the murmurs muffling through the thin door finally subside into silence, and all you can hear is the smooth, rhythmic R&B beat left behind, you know you need to finally face the music, so to speak.

Tentative fingers push open the bathroom door from the inside, and your eyes are drawn automatically to movement on the bed furthest from the balcony— Chrissy and Eddie's bed. But Chrissy's soft porcelain doesn't glide against pale quartz; her blonde hair doesn't drag down an inky chest. Instead, her dainty fingers are tangled in disheveled waves, and her pink bow lips are being devoured by your boyfriend's hungry kisses. You note absently that their orange and khaki are gone, leaving their skin entirely bare. As you watch them for a moment, you note that Steve and Chrissy seem frenzied with hot insistence tonight, more so than usual. Maybe they got worked up dancing, too. The thought is almost entirely dispassionate.

You turn your gaze to the other bed, eyes finding beautiful brown so quickly it almost feels like instinct.

Eddie is sitting on the edge, elbows braced on his knees, legs splayed wide, feet planted on the floor. His hands hang in the space between. Just like you, he's still fully dressed aside from his shoes. The white of his shirt pulls taut across his shoulders, and his dark curls spill over one shoulder, still tied back to reveal the cords of his neck, the angular shadow of his jaw, and the glint of silver hanging from his earlobes. His face is blank aside from the intensity of his eyes, which follow you as you softly pad closer until you're standing before him.

Eddie's body doesn't move aside from a slight shifting of his hands to make room for you between his knees, but his face tilts up to continue watching as you approach, expression unreadable. There's a tension between you which is nearly unnerving as Eddie stares without reaching for you, without smiling, almost without reacting at all. But you don't feel rejected by his stoicism. Instead, you reach out first, running your fingertips over the edge of his cheekbone, feathering lightly down his cheek. When his face lists just slightly into your touch, it emboldens you, and you let your thumb drag against the plump pink of Eddie's bottom lip in a soft caress.

You feel it then— the first reaction you pull from him. It's the subtle pursing of his full lips, the press of a gentle kiss against the pad of your thumb. Poignant longing flutters low inside you; wings quiver along with the green of your leaves. You cup Eddie’s face more fully, and a tremulous sigh falls from your lips when you feel the rasp of his fingertips along the satin at the back of your thighs. His touch is slight, but his rough calluses catch on the fabric, which drags like liquid against your skin before falling as his hands leave your legs to skim your hips.

After a moment of exploration, his warm palms settle there, and Eddie applies light pressure so you'll step back and give him room to rise. He towers before you, predatory angles softened by the gentleness of his fingers as they feel for the tiny zipper at the back of your dress. Your eyes don't leave his as the fabric slowly parts along your spine down to the small of your back. You peel the thin straps down your arms, helping him remove milk and honey to reveal your bare breasts and the apex of your thighs covered by delicate lace.

You're content to let the fabric pool around your ankles, but as you step out of it, Eddie picks your dress up for you, laying it across the nearby dresser with a sense of care he never shows his own clothing. A fond smile tilts your lips as you unbutton his shirt, and Eddie helps you undress him down to his checkered boxers.

Eddie's body feels more rigid than usual as he guides you onto the bed. There's an intentness to his actions now as he settles on top of you, a latent power in the coil of his muscles. When your hands run lightly over his shoulders and biceps, you think he seems tense. It makes you wonder if something is bothering him, if maybe he's changed his mind or is thinking about something else. You're frowning a little worriedly by the time Eddie wedges his hand under the nape of your neck, cupping your head firmly; his face hovers over yours as your eyes dart unsurely between his. The hush, the tension remains as his gaze draws slowly over your face until you're nearly squirming with the need to know what he's thinking. The music filling the room is loud and unrelenting, but with Eddie's quiet voice so close to your lips, you hear every word when he finally speaks.

"I need you to know—" your brow pinches at the seriousness of his voice, "—that everything about you is so incredibly beautiful. And I can't get enough of you."

It steals your breath entirely. And then Eddie's lips capture yours.

You burst with wild flutters, nearly dizzy as your hands clutch his jaw, kissing him desperately back. You pour all of yourself into Eddie as his mouth opens against yours, and you feel his smoke flow down into you, filling you with rich and heady feeling as he holds you close. Seeking tongues, hot breath; needy whimpers fall as you taste each other, writhe against each other's bodies. You press up into his hardness as your legs cradle his hips, and he bears down on you in return, grinding into your softness. He trails scorching kisses down the side of your neck, intent on his path down to your chest. Eddie nips your skin on the way, teeth teasing as you gasp out your pleasure; your breath shudders as he mouths at the swell of your breast. Your fingers seek his curls, tucking in near his scalp as his tongue laves at your pert nipple before his lips close over it. He sucks firmly, eyes flicking to yours to watch as your lips fall open. The warm wet suction of his mouth sparks straight to your pussy, and your hips squirm beneath his weight as you begin to throb between your legs.

Eddie's hair looks sexy in a ponytail, but you miss the rugged beauty of his dark curls, the way they frame both of your faces when he kisses you, concealing you from the world. Carefully, you guide the elastic band from his hair, letting that wild mass fall free around his shoulders. You bury your fingers in his curls and tug at the root, wanting to make him hum against your breast. And he does— a low, delicious sound that stokes the cinders of your arousal.

When your hips press up seekingly again, Eddie draws his face slowly back, tugging your hardened nipple with him until it finally pops from his mouth. You gasp again at the feeling, the sound all feminine need, eyes still captured by his heated gaze; a corner of his lips quirks as he switches to your other breast, tongue lashing your flesh until you're flushed, whimpering, hips aching with the desire for him to touch you where you burn for it most. A whispered word, barely more than a breath as it leaves your lips: "Please—"

It's so quiet, your plea, but Eddie seems to hear it. Or maybe he just senses your desperation in how your hips are rolling against him, yearning for friction. Either way, ever so kind, Eddie obliges you.

You feel the rasp of his fingertips against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, low near your knee; the promise of his touch is enough to have you sighing with relief even before he's come close to your heat. You know he'll give you what you want— you know it with the certainty of spring, of new growth and awakening, of wings that emerge from a soft cocoon after a long period of metamorphosis. Sure enough, his hand travels up your leg, kneading the dough of your thigh as you wiggle down lower on the bed so that his face is above yours again. He drapes himself half over you, bracing some of his weight on one forearm. And as his fingers finally rub you over lace, you tilt your chin to join your lips again.

As you kiss him, you relish each detail of the way Eddie's body feels against yours— his warmth enveloping you, his smoke and apples scent in your nose, his belly pressing into yours, expanding with every breath. You drag your calf along the back of his, and you even relish the rasp of his sparse leg hair against your skin, rubbing slowly as you devote your affection to his upper lip. Eddie's kisses are just as intent as before but less frantic now as he pushes lace aside to find the honey at the center of you. You hum, brow pinching in pleasure as his ring and middle fingers sink eagerly into your pussy.

Eddie takes his time, fingering you thoroughly to ensure you're ready to take him. He repeats his process over and over, patiently working you up: pressing in, stroking, drawing out your slick, and circling your clit before dipping down again. The way Eddie stretches you open is not slow or hesitant, but his attentiveness has you enjoying it all, down to the sting of his fingers as they stretch you. Even then, that sting fades quickly, leaving behind a sweet swell of steadily building pleasure which grows hotter with each shift of his dextrous hand.

You hike your leg a little higher up his hip, nudging your nose against his as you communicate your increasing desire through more sweltering kisses. And the next time Eddie's fingers sink inside you, he keeps them deep. He ruts in, pinky and index jutting against the outside of your slick lips as he works that soft spot on your front wall until you're panting and squirming with want. A small flame is growing low in your belly— a burning need for him to press you to the mattress with his weight, to drive his cock as deep inside you as he can. A whisper of a whine builds in your throat until it comes out in a soft needy noise muffled into his mouth. When he hears it, Eddie breaks your kiss but doesn't retreat far.

"Eddie," you whimper against his lips, cheeks flushed, brow pinched, voice whiny and nearly pathetic. But you don't feel ashamed of your need when you see the richness of Eddie's brown eyes, how they're burnished to deep amber with his desire for you.

He husks a quiet question, breath a warm caress against your lips. "Are you ready for me?"

A thrill pulses through you at the anticipation of his cock inside you, and as you squeeze around his fingers, you watch Eddie's brows jump. There is no hesitation in your answer.

“Yes,” you tell him.

He pulls his fingers out, and his hand settles on the wideness of your hip. And when his wet fingers mould into your flesh, you expect him to encourage you down to the mattress so he can lay fully on top of you. But instead, he pulls you in, pulls you closer, tilting your pelvis and pressing his forward so that his hot length is sandwiched between you. His fingers drag to the small of your back, and the way he holds you against him isn't insistent. It's gentle. Tender.

Eddie asks you another question— inflection the same as the previous, neutral like a second check-in. "You want me?"

Though his voice is no different than it had been, the question gives you pause. And as your eyes flick between his searchingly, you see it— a hint of something approaching defenselessness. Something that, though his irises are still thoroughly amber brown, reminds you of delicate pink.

You swallow, throat suddenly thick; your body presses instinctually closer as you hold his gaze and answer him. "I want you, Eddie."

And with your quiet assurance, that something behind his eyes shifts. You can feel his voice, thick and heady like smoke, rumble through his chest and into yours. "And I want you, y/n."

The first stretch is always delicious, no matter how much Eddie has fingered you beforehand or how many times you experience it. That moment he presses his blunt head against your entrance and eases in, sliding hard and hot and so thick along your walls… it never fails to leave you quivering with its intensity. It's always incredible, but this time, when Eddie's weight covers you, and you bend your legs, holding him close as he presses steadily deeper until he's seated fully inside, there's something loaded about it. Because the bed you're in— it's motionless aside from the slow rocking of Eddie's hips into yours as he begins to move. It's quiet aside from the hush of Eddie's breath along your cheek, the sound of his little moans muffled against your neck when he buries his face there, moving so slowly inside you like he's savoring the moment. And you're savoring the moment, too, closing your eyes to focus on all the sensations: the whisper of Eddie's curls against your clavicle; his firm musculature under your hands as you run them over the planes of his back; the tender rasp of his calloused fingers as he draws them up your side, caressing your soft skin; the satisfied hum that rumbles against your throat when you move your hips in tandem with his slow, sensual rhythm. For the first time since that very first time— when Eddie went down on you on the big couch— Steve and Chrissy are having sex across the room instead of right beside you. And, frankly, they might as well be on a different planet entirely. Because whatever your boyfriend is doing? It hasn't crossed your mind since the moment you opened the bathroom door and met Eddie's beautiful brown eyes.

The slow drag of Eddie's thickness inside you keeps that small flame flickering, filling you with warmth as you sigh contentedly against his curls. He lifts his head when he hears you, and his hand finds your jaw to tip your head back so he can nibble just underneath your chin. "Mmm—" You drag your teeth against your bottom lip as his mouth sparks heat along your skin. It adds to your burn, and your hips press up into him a little harder, silently encouraging him to move faster.

But Eddie doesn't move faster, though he also doesn't ignore your coaxing; instead, he trails kisses up to the corner of your mouth, murmuring a hair's breadth from your lips when he gets there. "Will you do something for me?" he asks.

Your answer pops out in an automatic sigh. "Anything."

When you feel the little fond huff from Eddie's nose puff against your skin, your eyes flutter open, and you see those full pink lips pull into a small smile before he kisses you. You lean into it, chin angling to chase him when he pulls away; you’re nearly pouting as he withdraws from your lips. His thumb drags fondly against your jaw, mollifying you as you await his request. You said it— anything— and you meant it, but you aren't expecting what Eddie calmly asks of you as he holds your gaze.

“Touch yourself.”

You blink, eyes widening as your hips still beneath him in surprise and hesitance. This is the first time Eddie has ever suggested such a thing, and it isn't something you've ever done with Steve, either. You'd always had the impression that guys would think they weren't doing a good enough job getting you off if you did that while having sex with them. You can't help but blurt, "A-are you sure?" You nearly cringe at the tentativeness in your voice.

Eddie doesn't judge you— he never does— but you do read some incredulity in his expression as he strokes back your hair, smoothing his fingers along the strands that fan against the smooth sheets near your ear. "Of course, I'm sure," he replies. "I want you to feel good, sweetheart."

Your hesitance melts away with the earnestness of his reply, replaced by a low flutter as Eddie voices that he wants you to feel good. Of course, you know he does, but it's one thing to know it and quite another to hear him say it with that smoky voice, with his pretty face hovering so close, with his cock hot and hard inside you. You nod, eyes lighting as you see him smile broadly at your approval. "Gimme your hand," he says, and when you offer it to him, he sucks the tip of your index finger between his lips, tongue brushing like a hot flash before he's pulling away.

Your finger is slick with his spit as you reach between you, and Eddie braces on his forearms, lifting slightly to give you room to wedge your hand down near your heat. You maneuver together into a position that works— Eddie hovering over you, one of your legs hiked up on his hip and the other slack and bent against the mattress as you search for your clit until you find it. The back of your hand nudges against the nest of his dark curls as you begin to press circles into that squishy bead, pleasure sparking with each pass. "That's it," Eddie breathes, and then he's moving again.

The rhythm he resumes is less languid than before, hips rolling in time with your strokes against your clit. You aren’t sure if you're timing your movements with his, or he with yours— it's impossible to tell, but the effect is the same. You rock into him, brow pinching slightly as your head falls to the side, breathy moans falling loosely from your lips as the burn in your belly begins to increase with both of your efforts. He takes your bared throat as an opportunity, and his face fits there against the juncture of your neck as if it's always been meant to. Eddie's nose bobs against your throat as he starts to really fuck into you, hips impacting your thighs faster, harder, with fleshy slaps you can hear over the room's music. And as he does, you can feel the increase of his fervor, the evidence of his pleasure— his breath huffing against your skin, his little rumbling moans, always so vocal, sounds never truly suppressed. And then his fingers are lightly pinching the shell of your ear, drawing down to the lobe in a tender caress seemingly at odds with how he's fucking you.

It makes you flutter with tremulous wings. It makes you melt into a smoldering burn.

It makes your green quiver and bloom.

Eddie lifts his head to murmur against your cheek. "Does it feel good, pretty girl?"

You breathe in the smoke, pleasure licking higher. "Yes, it's—" you break off in a breathy moan, and Eddie nudges fondly against your cheek with his nose, lips trailing featherlight against your skin. "It's really good," you finish your sentence, voice shakier, huskier with desire.

You bite your lip as Eddie responds to your praise, one hand wedging again under the back of your neck so he can hold you closer, hips moving a little faster now. You find yourself focused on the feeling of his thick cock reaching deep as you adjust to his new pace. And as focused as you are, you don't notice that your hand slows, fingers stalling between your bodies.

Yet Eddie must notice because his face is now hovering over yours again, expression coaxing. "Keep rubbing your clit for me, sweetheart." Your fingers jolt immediately into action, pressing quick circles into your now-swollen bud, knuckles dragging against the wiry hair near the base of his cock. "That's it, good girl," Eddie husks, warm with approval. You want to keep hearing his voice— you want it just as much as you want him never to stop holding you as close as he is now, moving with you the way he's doing now.

"I like it when you talk to me," you tell him, voice high and needy with feminine hoarseness. His brown eyes burnish further, full pink lips quirking in a tilted grin, and you can't help but smile back when you see the light behind his gaze.

He touches your face, but where you expect the rasp of his callouses, you feel the smooth drag of his nails instead as he caresses your cheek with the back of his hand. "I know," Eddie murmurs. "I know you do, sweet girl."

You rub your clit as Eddie fucks you and tells you he knows what you like. "I like talking to you, too," you tell him, pink tongue darting out to swipe at his lips. You want him to know. "You feel so good inside me, Eddie."

He exhales harshly at that, brow twitching up as he stares down at you, gaze locked on your eyes. "Fuck." His voice is deeper, huskier now, and you feel a thrill at his reaction, one that jolts straight down to tighten in your belly. "You look so fuckin' gorgeous takin' my cock. Doin' so well."

Flutter, smolder, burn, bloom. Eddie's praise increases your pleasure, and that quiver inside tightens even further. You want to answer, but all that comes out is a gasp as he thrusts against a spot inside you that makes your toes suddenly curl. "Oh, mmm—" Your voice sounds tight and high, almost unlike you, as you hear it spill involuntarily from your lips.

Eddie is panting now, and your thighs tighten against his hips as you lift both legs, hand pressed tight between your pelvises as your fingers swipe back and forth. "You want it harder?" he asks, sounding determined, if not a little breathless. "You want me to fuck you harder?"

Anything to feel him hit that spot again. "Yes," you moan instantly, "yes, please—"

He groans as you beg, deepening his thrusts. But he doesn't just fuck you harder. Eddie adjusts you in his grip, and you feel his muscles tense as he leans over on one forearm to hook the other hand behind your knee and pull your leg up higher on his hip. It presses your hand tighter between you, but you don't care— you're rubbing with the flat of your fingers now, your other hand soothing across his flexed bicep, damp with sweat from his effort. He changes the angle of his hips minutely, and his thick length probes inside you as if searching, seeking for something—

A sudden flare of white-hot pleasure makes you gasp sharply; your back arches as your head tips back against the sheets. Eddie stops his searching, holding you firmly as he thrusts again at the same angle, breath huffing in a delighted chuckle when you whimper as pleasure flares bright for a second time. He sounds nearly ragged but entirely pleased when he asks you, "That's it, huh? That's the spot?"

You're so quick to assure him you're nearly babbling. "Yeah, don't— don't stop, please, don't stop, right there—" You hum desperately as he fucks into you again, fast and hard, intent now that he's found that sweet spot that makes you quiver with pleasure. And you are quivering— muscles shaking, heart pounding, breath shuddering as the flame of your arousal catches to a wildfire.

"Fuck yes," Eddie groans, tight with effort but oh, so satisfied. "That's it, sweetheart. I can feel you; you're gonna soak my dick." He's barely pulling out now, nothing more than an inch, just rutting in against that same spot over and over and over—

Your breath hitches, hiccuping in your chest; tears sting the corners of your eyes as the fire in your belly builds so quickly, tingly and aching and hot. It's that familiar feeling, but far more intense than it's ever been, almost frighteningly so.

"Eddie—?" your soft cry of his name sounds so helpless, wanting but nearly afraid.

"Hold onto me," he tells you hoarsely; his fingers tighten against the nape of your neck, cupping you supportively.

You wrap your free arm around his shoulders, clinging to him as he ruts into your wet heat, pounding you evenly despite the harshness of his breath and the trembling of his muscles that reveal his fatigue. But Eddie doesn't relent. He never stops, not when you wrench your other arm from between you to clutch at his shoulders with both hands, not even when you dig your nails into the meat of his back. You no longer care about rubbing your clit as your fire burns impossibly higher, as the pleasure spreads tingly and tight up to your navel. Because you know, with a certainty that you've never felt before having sex, that it doesn't matter whether or not you're touching yourself. You know that Eddie is going to get you there.

You whine pathetically, holding him tightly, following his instruction. "Eddie," you moan all wobbly, betraying the way you're teetering on the edge. "E-Eddie, I'm—"

You break off in a desperate whimper, that spreading, tingling ache so overwhelming that you can't move, can't think, can't really speak. But you can hear, and Eddie sounds nearly desperate himself as his cheek drags against yours, smoke voice rasping reassurance in your ear. "It's okay— It's okay, y/n, just let go. I've got you—"

“Eddie—!”

You gasp a dry sob and keen his name as you cum.

The feeling that breaks over you as Eddie makes you cum is one you've never experienced before. You've only ever brought yourself to completion with your fingers or a vibrator. You've never orgasmed while having sex with a partner— never been cradled in a full-bodied embrace as the tension snaps inside you, flooding you with sweet, euphoric release that races along your every nerve. You'd float away if Eddie wasn't pinning you to the bed with his reassuring weight, digging his nose into your cheek as he holds you close, panting raggedly in your ear as you go rigid beneath him, pussy pulsing tight around his thick cock. "Holy—" he whimpers, not unaffected as you begin to squirm and writhe with the force of your orgasm, as if your body is unsure whether it wants to escape the intensity of the feeling or crawl closer, begging for it to last forever. And throughout it all, Eddie's hips coax you through, moving slow and tender as your nails dig little half-moons into his skin, as your lips tremble with small choked sounds of pleasure, as that tingling fire rushes hot through your body until it leaves you a melty, quivering mess beneath him, gasping desperate breaths.

As the tension in your limbs finally eases, they slump bonelessly in relief. Your arms remain draped loosely over Eddie's shoulders, and your legs fall open as your pleasure subsides into a lingering warmth. You feel floaty in the best way. Not like before, when you felt you could drift up through the ceiling and be dashed away, untethered from the earth. More like wading into warm sea water, bobbing in gentle waves that swirl your hair soft against your cheeks. Trusting, knowing you'll be kept afloat. At peace.

You feel Eddie's plush lips at the corner of your eye as he turns his head, kissing you softly. And then, as he sighs your name, the movement of Eddie's hips— that steady, even rhythm he'd maintained throughout your orgasm— begins to slow.

At first, you think maybe he already came, but he's still stiff, still thick and unyielding inside you. A little wrinkle forms between your brows. You ask him softly, "Did you—?"

He stops moving, then. "Not yet," he answers just as softly. No disappointment in his voice— no expectation, nothing but tenderness. You flutter, green quivering as you push your hips into him, drawing him deeper inside you to keep him from retreating.

Eddie lifts his head, brows tugged up in concern. "You're not too sensitive?"

"No, no, keep going," you answer quickly, thick like honey at his concern. "I want you to cum, too." And to punctuate your point, you bury your fingers in the damp curls at the nape of his neck, cupping his skull with both hands as you pull him to your lips. You encourage him with deep, languid kisses, rolling your hips until he responds. He pushes into you carefully at first, but when you hum, pleased to feel him respond, he gradually increases his pace until he's fucking into you again.

You break from the kiss, panting against his jaw as you tug at his hair to tilt his head back, pulling a grunt from deep in his throat. You nip at his strong jaw, teeth and tongue and lips working at his skin, and he snaps his hips into you in response, flesh smacking again as he fucks you harder, faster. "Mmm—" you moan against his throat, wanting more of his fervor, wanting to give him the same thing he'd given you. You kitten-lick the salt of his neck, scratching at his scalp as you ease your grip on his hair. "Yeah, Eddie, fuck me 'til you cum," you whine quietly against his chin, gratified when he groans deep in his chest.

"Fuck, sweet girl—" He breaks off in a hoarse hum, and you loosen your grip further to let him tip his chin down to look at you. Your eyes rove eagerly over his face, taking him in: plush lips now swollen and flushed deep pink thanks to your kisses; eyes hazy and dark from desire, pupils blown wide, nearly swallowing the brown; pale quartz skin dewy from effort, flushed high on his cheekbones; ink-dark curls sweat-damp and wild and captivating as they stick to his forehead and sway around his face.

He's beautiful, you realize. Eddie is so beautiful.

"Where should I—?" he asks tightly, and the urgency of the question tells you he's close. "You want me on your stomach? On your tits?"

As soon as he asks, you know what you want.

"No, I—" You duck close and dig your nose into his throat, hesitating. "I wanna…" Though you know with absolute certainty what you want to say, your request sticks on your tongue, clinging stubbornly.

"Tell me," Eddie encourages you, and you swallow thickly, heart racing as you push the words out in a tremulous whisper.

"I… I wanna feel you again." You will him to understand despite your indirectness.

It takes a second, but you watch Eddie's eyes go wide, watch his brows flick, watch the way his face slackens with sudden clarity. "You want it—" His adam's apple bobs with a thick swallow before he ducks his head, lips against your ear. There's a pause before he mutters quietly, "I'm not supposed to."

He sounds halting. Regretful. Like he doesn't want to deny you, sure. But more than that. Because, though you both know what happened last time, Eddie sounds like he wants it, too. Like he wants it just as much as you do.

And you know it's breaking the rules, but frankly, in this moment, all you feel are those fluttering moth's wings and the stretch of your green, the way it's reaching up to twine its first tendrils around your ribs. You don't feel any trepidation, or fear, or oozing guilt. As the green spreads, small white flowers blooming in its wake, the words surge up from the bottom of you.

"I don't care," you hiccup, admission nearly a whimper. "I don't care, just— please, Eddie, I want your cum in me—"

"Jesus— fuck," Eddie yelps. His hips stutter, losing their even rhythm as his pace turns frenetic. And as you feel his cock twitch inside you, as you feel him start to approach his completion, that poignant yearning wells up in you again, quivering, fluttering with the knowledge of his pleasure, the pleasure you're giving him.

"Eddie," you sigh, tightening one arm around his shoulders and cupping the back of his head with your other hand. You press his face to your hair as he whimpers, panting hot against your skin; you hold him close as his hips rut into you, shuddering a breath as you feel him tense. "Give it to me, Eddie," you whisper, and as Eddie's cock jerks hard, you feel the moment he starts to cum inside you.

You feel everything.

It isn't like the first time when you were on top. This time, it isn't a surprise when Eddie's hips press tight to yours, when he starts to moan, tight and high, muffling the sound against your sticky neck. It isn't a surprise when you feel the warm flood of his seed fill you. And though you can't see Eddie's face, being able to hold him close while he tenses and shivers with his pleasure is just as good. It's wonderful in a different way.

When his shuddering finally subsides, you wrap your legs around the small of his back, encouraging him to lay on you. And Eddie must be exhausted because he does— he rests fully on you, letting you hold him as his heart beats wildly against your breast. He just lays there and breathes, great panting breaths of exertion and release that puff warm against your skin. It's hot, and damp, and you're sticking to him everywhere, but you couldn't care less. You run your hands softly over the planes of his back, humming when you feel him nuzzle you with his nose. You continue caressing him slowly as he recovers his energy, still buried inside you. As the moment stretches on, you find yourself wishing you could exist here forever— here, in this place where you're holding Eddie, and he's holding you, languid and spent, entirely at peace from the pleasure you've given each other.

Eventually, Eddie shifts on top of you, and you feel a flash of dismay that he's about to get off you. But he's just propping himself up on an elbow to hover over you again. You feel his thumb stroke featherlight along your cheekbone, and your eyes go soft at how Eddie kisses you so carefully. You melt into his kiss, into the light caress of his calloused fingers against your cheek and jaw as he smoothes your hair against the sheets again.

When he breaks the kiss, Eddie's brown eyes dart between yours. "Was that good for you?" He asks, and the earnestness in his voice, in his face…

You didn't know you could flutter and bloom more than you already have, but here you are.

"Yeah," you reply, voice tiny and nearly cracked with the strength of your emotion. "Yeah, so good, Eddie. Thank you." And all of a sudden, the sting at the corner of your eyes returns so insistently that before you know it, the first tear has fallen.

Your bottom lip quivers as you blink, another tear quickly following. Your brow crinkles with confusion, self-consciousness already beginning to tighten in your sternum. "I-I'm sorry," you stammer, shoulders pulling up towards your ears as Eddie watches you with those dark eyes. "I don't know why I'm crying—"

But Eddie shakes his head, smiling tenderly down at you. "Don't be sorry, y/n," he murmurs, smoke voice rich and heady and soothing as he repeats your words from the club back to him— what you'd told him when he apologized for breaking the first rule with you that night.

Don't be sorry. Don't be ashamed.

Those dark eyes are shining, bright with light that radiates from within him. There's a gentleness there, a gentleness that spreads over the tops of his cheeks. That hint of pink on black and white. And you don't know why you're crying, but you know you're not sad; and when you realize that Eddie knows it too, your self-consciousness eases, and you just relax and let your tears fall.

Eddie doesn't try to quiet you or tell you to stop. He doesn't tell you that you're okay and you don't need to cry. Instead, he wipes your tears patiently with calloused thumbs. He presses tender kisses to your lips and your wet cheeks. Eddie holds you as you cry. And as he does, your leaves soak in his light, roots coveting his rich charcoal. Your petals spread, opening their faces, unafraid of being perceived. And there's something more. As the tendrils anchor around your ribs, vining snug against that supportive trellis, small fruit begins to appear— tiny bunches of green, immature and firm, sprouting abundantly along your growth.

As your tears subside, you sniffle and cup Eddie's cheek, leaning up for a firm kiss. You pour into it, hoping it can convey some of the tenderness you feel for him. Because you want him to know. You want Eddie to know how much you—

The bed across the room creaks loudly then, and you startle, breaking from Eddie's lips as you realize the R&B music must have ended some time ago. The sound of a bed creaking— a bed that isn't the one you're laying on— sends you crashing back into reality. It strikes you suddenly where you are: in a hotel room in Miami, Florida, on vacation with your boyfriend, Steve, your friend, Chrissy, and your friend's boyfriend, Eddie, with whom you've just had the best sex of your life.

On some level, you can admit to yourself that it's not shocking the best sex you've ever had was with Eddie. But what is shocking is that you'd been so caught up in being with him that you'd entirely forgotten that Steve and Chrissy had been across the room the entire time, just a half-dozen feet away.

You're suddenly aware of them again, but your eyes haven't left Eddie's. And though he hasn't looked away either, you can see in the way he blinks and his vision seems to flicker that he's just gained the same awareness. He's still half-hard inside you, but his stiffness is flagging now; carefully, Eddie pulls out, saying quickly, "Wait there, I'll get you a towel."

You nod, and before he gets up, you feel his thumb drag fondly against your cheek one last time— a hasty little swipe, like he couldn't help but steal one more touch before he leaves you. You bend your legs, angling your hips to try to keep his cum from staining the sheets. You press the back of your hands against your warm cheeks, taking a slow breath and letting it out, gazing at the blank ceiling as you wait for Eddie to return. You hear his footsteps hastening out of the bathroom, heading for the side of your bed, but they halt when a crisp voice cuts suddenly through the silence.

"I got it," the voice says, smooth and even. "She needs you."

You lift your head, eyes darting to the two men near the foot of your bed. Both are naked. One is pale and hesitant as his gaze flicks restlessly between everyone else in the room. The other is tan, arms crossed as he stands between your bed and his friend. You watch Eddie swallow as his eyes meet Steve's even stare, and then he's moving toward the other bed, away from you. Steve watches him go, and you glance over at Eddie's destination to see Chrissy lounging against the rumpled sheets, waves of silky blonde hair splayed against her pillow, a dainty hand cupped against her lower stomach to prevent Steve's release from spilling before it can be cleared away.

You register a presence near your feet, eyes catching on hazel and touseled waves as Steve stares down at you impassively. With instant clarity, you can see yourself through his eyes— the juncture of your thighs sticky with Eddie's warm cum, your eyes wet with tears, your cheeks slowly flushing with the evidence of your thick, oozing guilt. And you feel something else: the thrum of deep shame, prickling like thousands of tiny needles, racing through your veins in time with your heart.

Suddenly, you can't breathe.

You have enough presence of mind to cup a hand over yourself to contain the mess as you scramble from the bed, dismounting near the sliding glass door opposite where Steve is standing. It brings you closer to your open suitcase— a small blessing, as you snatch an oversized t-shirt with your unoccupied hand before making a hasty retreat into the safety of the bathroom again.

You suck in a shaky breath, heart stuttering in your chest as you puff your cheeks and let it out slowly, leaning against the light wood of the closed bathroom door. Guilt, shame, trepidation— they all resurge stronger than ever as you realize what you and Eddie have done.

You'd broken the rules again, and this time, it hadn't been an accident. You'd chosen it. You'd wanted it. In the heat of the moment, you hadn't cared about the consequences, but now, as you wad up toilet paper and yank it from the roll, you feel the prickle of hot shame racing as you wipe the evidence of your betrayal from between your legs. You drop the ruined tissue into the toilet, yanking and wiping and yanking and wiping as if your guilt is a physical stain, and if you rub yourself raw, you can cleanse it from your flesh.

But your guilt is inside you, and so is your shame. Hot, prickling, thick, and oozy, shame and guilt coat your stomach, making you feel nearly ill as you consider your selfishness. You think of Steve's impassive face, knowing instinctively that it must have been a mask concealing how he truly felt. You think of what Chrissy will feel when she realizes that Eddie has cum inside you again, heart skipping and thudding at the sudden, horrifying thought that she may have overheard you asking for it. That she or Steve might know how much you wanted it.

How much you loved it.

Hot tears leak from your eyes, and you wipe them away silently as you flush the evidence of your betrayal. You're still swiping them from your blurred vision as you watch the water swirl.

You're dreading emerging from this oasis with its light wood cabinets and its marblesque tiles even more now than you were earlier tonight. You delay it as long as possible— pulling on your oversized t-shirt, washing your makeup away, brushing your teeth, wishing you had thought to grab a pair of underwear, though at least the shirt covers your ass with a couple of inches to spare. You feel exposed and vulnerable, and you know it has everything to do with the thought of facing Steve when you get out of here. You don't want to endure his reaction but feel selfish for even thinking that. However he responds to what I've done is what I deserve, and I need to accept that.

The bathroom door creaks open into peaceful silence. You peek carefully through the crack, eyeing Steve where he's reclining against the pillows lining the headboard, the side of his face illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside lamp as he scrolls on his phone. As you emerge from the bathroom with tentative steps, Chrissy's hand finds the thin wood of the door, and you startle, nearly jumping as she appears suddenly in front of you.

"Done in there?" Her blue eyes are shiny and bright, and her voice sounds just as perky as it always does.

"Uh…" Your gaze darts from her to Eddie, who's hovering just behind her, brown eyes wide, full mouth pressed into a long line of bemusement as he stares back at you. "Um, yeah," you say, trying to fix your face into a neutral expression, though you fear it's probably all creased up with guilt and shame.

Chrissy doesn't seem to notice. "'Kay!" she says, flashing a bright grin at you as you sidestep so she can shimmy by you into the bathroom. When Eddie merely stands there, hands hanging limply at his sides as he stares at you, she glances back. "C'mon, Eddie," Chrissy says with a little playful whine, fingers closing around his wrist. "I'm cold, and I wanna go to bed!"

He moves forward to follow her almost automatically, and you watch him until the door clicks softly shut, separating you.

You blink at the white door until you hear a rustle break the hush. It's Steve, folding back the now-straightened sheets on your bed like an invitation. When you stare at him without moving, he glances up at you through his mussed bangs as he pats the mattress. No way to misconstrue that— it is undoubtedly an invitation for you to get in bed with him. And what's more, Steve doesn't appear angry or upset at all. In fact, he's currently shooting you a lopsided grin.

It feels like the fucking Twilight Zone.

Is it possible that Steve and Chrissy haven't fully realized what happened between you and Eddie? That they'd been so caught up in their own pleasure that the tension, the intimacy, the first real orgasm you’ve ever had with a partner had gone entirely unnoticed? It's nearly unbelievable. In fact, it is unbelievable. But the evidence to the contrary— Chrissy's usual powdery-soft smile and Steve's usual easy grin— cannot be ignored.

You're reeling, but amid your utter bafflement, you have enough presence of mind to realize that acting strange is not going to do you any favors and will only make the situation— whatever the situation is— worse. So you walk forward, slipping under the covers and turning as you feel Steve immediately click out the bedside light and shimmy over to spoon you. You force yourself to relax as his firm arms wrap around you, and his alkaline nose tucks against the juncture of your neck. You let Steve hold you— let him press his torso along your spine and fit his legs into the crook made by your bent legs, the entire length of his body snug against yours. He sighs deeply, a loud breathy sound of contentment that ruffles the hair at the nape of your neck.

"Shit," Steve says, and his crisp voice washes over you like a cool wave. "That was fun."

You've started to adapt to this situation, and that allows you to answer him the way you do. "Good," you say, and your voice is even and warm. "I'm glad you had fun."

Steve presses a chaste kiss to the side of your neck before settling his head back against his pillow. And you realize, as you stare at the empty bed across the room, that what you'd told him— that you're glad Steve had fun with Chrissy— is the truth. That you've reached the point where you really don't mind that your boyfriend fucked someone else tonight.

That, if you're brutally honest with yourself, you no longer care that Steve is fucking Chrissy at all.

And that should scare you. But despite this realization, the warmth of Steve's body coupled with the exhaustion of the day— both emotional and physical— has your lashes already fluttering with the effort it takes to resist the allure of sleep. You barely twitch as the bathroom door opens, and Eddie and Chrissy climb into their own bed.

And as you succumb to the promise of slumber, soft like a velvet shroud as it covers you until you sink down into unconsciousness, the last thing you see is the image of Chrissy's lithe arms wrapped like a vice around Eddie's back, her dainty fingers pressing into his pale quartz skin. You watch her nails grow, sharpening to points until they're pricking him. They begin to pierce through his flesh as she clutches him so tightly. And you think he must be in such pain; he must be shouting, but you don't hear a sound. You watch as wells of deep red blood flow from his wounds and seep into the sheets, staining them with a gash of crimson that will never wash away.

You don't actually see any of that. As it turns out, you're already asleep.

–

Butterflies live their lives basking in the sun. Moths don’t; they exist in the dark, lives illuminated only by the moon, that indirect refraction of true sun. So whenever they steal a glimpse of the light, they’re drawn to it. Recklessly, they chase it, fluttering around that brightness, unafraid or unaware of the consequences. And because they don’t see it all the time, they yearn for it in a way that butterflies never do.

Even if it destroys them.

–

Approximately twenty-six hours ago, you'd imagined yourself sitting on the hotel balcony, having a leisurely cup of morning coffee to revive you after a long night of partying at the club with your friends and boyfriend. Instead, you find yourself digging in your suitcase, searching for an athleisure outfit so you can accompany Chrissy to the spa.

As you'd awakened to light streaming through the gauzy curtains, eyes blinking open to the sight of dark curls gleaming in the shafts of brightness and Eddie's pale quartz back rising and falling with even breaths, the presence of Chrissy's dainty hand splayed across his spine had conjured a small shiver. But when you'd grasped for it, the reason for your unease slipped from your consciousness like a drop of ink or blood diffusing into water. You quickly attributed the feeling to your actions the previous night, to the vestiges of guilt and shame that still ticked at the edge of your senses despite the conspicuous lack of conflict and a good night's rest. You'd been preparing for the fallout as you sat up in bed, drawing restless fingers through your hair and rubbing the remnants of slumber from your eyes. But when Chrissy awoke, blue eyes bright and smile soft as she pulled herself cross-legged on the other side of Eddie and whisper-shouted to you her proposal for how to spend the morning before your return flight, you finally allowed yourself to accept that maybe things were okay after all.

As you search for an outfit, you're careful not to disturb Steve. He's still stretched out against the sheets, hair adorably disheveled, nose whistling slightly with each inhale. You watch him sleep for a moment, but when it conjures a whisper of feeling you don't want to confront right now, you redouble your efforts to find an outfit. Soon, you're adorned in a loose cropped t-shirt, high-waisted bike shorts, and flip-flops. After a quick visit to the bathroom to brush your teeth and fix your hair, the slight jangle of keys near the door tells you Chrissy is ready and waiting. You emerge to find her in a skin-tight black romper, topped with a loose button-up tied chicly at the waist to show off her athletic legs. Together, the pair of you set out for a morning filled with the promise of relaxation and revival.

The day spa Chrissy has chosen called Ciel reminds you of the bathroom in your hotel. It's all clean lines and light wood, crisp and pristine but scattered with lush greenery that echoes the tropical foliage outdoors. Trying to balance treating yourselves but also sticking to a budget, you and Chrissy had agreed to two spa activities, which would have you back to the hotel by ten o'clock to pack and eat a quick brunch with the guys before your one o'clock flight.

It smells of rich aromatherapy oil in the massage room where you're lying face-down on the table, face wedged in the opening, with nothing but a thin towel to preserve your modesty. You'd think that after having sex with three people at once, you'd be a little more comfortable with your own nudity. Yet you find yourself having to resist the sudden spike of self-consciousness that pierces you when you hear the door creak open underneath the ambient music and flowing water sounds. Still, Chrissy's presence on the table beside yours is soothing, and as the massage progresses, you find the precise and clinical rubbing does exactly what it's supposed to. It's like the masseuse's fingers are wringing all the tension from your body. As the hot stones rest heavily against your back, they release the ooze of your guilt and shame until you emerge from the room feeling cleansed.

After your massage, you suck down cold water as instructed, Chrissy at your side as you wait for your second activity: manicures. She sighs contentedly, porcelain skin shining pink and healthy from the heat, eyes sparkling even brighter. "That was so nice," she says. "I totally needed that."

"Yeah, me too," you say, exchanging a warm smile with her. "So, how was it dancing on stage last night?"

"Oh, my God, y/n, it was so cool!" she gushes, clasping your forearm as she starts to tell you all about it. And as you listen to Chrissy talk— as she shakes your arm around in her enthusiasm, and you fawn over her on-stage escapades, any lingering trepidation you felt at the thought of Chrissy being angry with you finally melts away. We're okay, you think, feeling a surge of fondness for Chrissy as you squeeze her fingers, and she smiles that soft charming smile that reveals her slightly crooked teeth.

An attendant guides you to the wall of nail colors, and you and Chrissy make your selections. You opt for squared tips and a pretty dove gray color. After some deliberation, Chrissy decides to get acrylics— not too long, but pointed, painted a bright siren red. Her acrylics will take longer than yours, but you don't mind; you've budgeted enough time for the indulgence, and the whole point of this trip is to relax and take it easy. No need to rush.

You sit side-by-side with Chrissy in the salon chair, resting your fingers lightly on the table as you wait for your nail technician to join you. She is an older woman with kindly-wrinkled eyes and shockingly smooth hands for her age. You greet her, and she returns your 'hello' with a smile, getting straight down to business by wiping off your bare nails with polish remover to ensure they're ready to be painted. Chrissy's technician comes second, flouncing into her seat across from your friend. She's younger, probably about your age, with a massive black bun piled atop her head to reveal an undercut.

"What's up?" she greets Chrissy, who smiles broadly. "We doing acrylics?"

"Yup," Chrissy answers, wiggling her fingers sassily. "You like?"

The technician slants a grin at her. "Hell yeah," she replies, earning one of Chrissy's giggles as she positions her hands atop the towel to begin working.

Your technician eyes her colleague with an air of motherly long-suffering but doesn't comment as she works. Despite the casualness of Chrissy's technician, which may, you suppose, bother some customers, you eagerly welcome the conversation that flows between you three. You learn that her name is Crystal, which you all have a bit of a laugh over as it sounds so close to Chrissy. Crystal's constant chatterboxing doesn't interfere with her ability to work; she seamlessly gossips with you while preparing Chrissy's nails with practiced ease. And your technician doesn't seem to mind being excluded from the conversation, appearing content to work in patient silence while manipulating your limp fingers as your eyes dart from Chrissy to Crystal and back again.

Eventually, as Crystal's most recent story subsides, Chrissy glances at you. And you can tell, as her blonde brows crinkle up and her teeth bite down on her lip to contain a smile, that she wants to say something.

"What?" you say, playfully bald, narrowing your eyes with faux suspicion. "What is it? Spit it out, Chris."

She purses her lips, glancing between you and Crystal as she speaks, sweet and powdery soft in her hesitance. "Well… I've been dying to tell you this, y/n. It's kind of why I wanted to do this without the guys. We're on vacation with our boyfriends," she explains to Crystal, who nods, looking intrigued.

You're also intrigued by the sparkle in Chrissy's eye and the sudden light flush on her cheeks. You can tell it's good news and that it must be something big. Your face goes slack, eyes wide with excitement, thinking that it might be about her yoga studio— the reason she's been taking all those night classes, working so hard. Is she done with her degree? Had she found a good deal on a location? You itch to reach for her, but you can't move your hands; you settle for expressing your eagerness through your face and voice. "What is it, babe?" you ask, warm and buoyant with rising glee as her smile breaks free, lighting her face so radiantly.

"I think Eddie's gonna propose to me!"

Crystal squeals, Chrissy giggles, and your face is still fixed in a bright, eager smile.

"Holy shit!" Crystal exclaims, leaning in, ignoring the pointed look your technician shoots her way.

"I know," Chrissy sighs, feet tip-tapping on the floor like she needs an outlet for her overwhelming giddiness. "I'm so excited. I mean, we were gonna wait until after I finished my classes and got my degree, but we've been dating for, like, five years now, so what's the point in delaying, you know?" She looks from Crystal to you as if seeking your approval. You tighten the sagging corners of your smile, cheeks already aching as you nod quickly. You don't trust yourself to speak. Thankfully, her eyes bounce back and forth between you and Crystal, continuing eagerly without seeking more of a response.

And as Chrissy tells you all the reasons she thinks Eddie is going to propose to her, a feeling like mortification slides hot down the back of your neck to the base of your spine. It's like mortification but heavier, thicker. More asphixiating. Like your friend had shoved a pillow over your face, and each rationale she gives for Eddie's imminent proposal presses it down harder and harder against your nose and lips until your chest heaves, fruitlessly sucking in fabric instead of air.

"We've been living together for a few months now," she's telling you and Crystal, "and it's been amazing. Like, I heard the transition can be kind of hard at first, moving in with someone, but it was so seamless. I was shocked! And it's so nice to come home to him every day. Well, you know," she chuckles, slanting a friendly, knowing look toward you. "You live with Steve, so you get it."

"All right, what's the best part?" Crystal asks conversationally, filing the acrylic of Chrissy's ring finger to a precise point.

"Hmm…" Chrissy bobs her head back and forth, pursing her lips as she thinks. "Probably sleeping with him." It takes every ounce of willpower you possess not to react.

Crystal guffaws. "Girl—"

Chrissy cuts her off. "No, no! Not like that," she clarifies with a charming giggle. "Eddie's like my personal heater. I'm always so cold, and he keeps me warm every night. And he's so attentive. Even when he's worked a really long shift and comes home super tired, he always wants to cuddle. He's really affectionate. And he's so reliable. I know he'd do anything for me."

You're still smiling, but you can't breathe.

"Aw," Crystal coos, brows tugging up in a simpering expression of admiration. "I'm happy for you, girl."

"Thank you," Chrissy replies, letting her head fall back as her eyes take on this far-away, dreamy look. You watch her as she hums contentedly before saying musingly, "Yeah. We'll get married, then I'll open the studio. And I think in a year or two, that'll probably be the right time to start trying." She slants a glance at you and Crystal, smiling conspiratorially as she shrugs. "Or sooner. You never know." She giggles and Crystal huffs amusedly through her nose. "Not sure I wanna wait that long to have my first baby."

There is no pillow; instead, Chrissy has sucked all the air from the room. Your lungs begin to ache.

"Honey," your technician says, all kind and quiet as your eyes dart to hers for the first time in a long while. She smiles reassuringly. "You're a little shaky. Did you eat this morning?"

You look down. She has your pinky in her grip, brush poised with dove gray polish above your nail. She's right. Your hands are trembling.

"N-no." You push the words out, voice creaky with disuse, so quiet that you aren't sure if she's heard you. You flex your fingers, jaw clenching as you focus on trying to keep them still. When she doesn't resume her painting, you glance up at her again. "I'm okay," you add, and when she nods, you turn your eyes back to your fingers, thinking of nothing but holding still and breathing evenly. Inhale slowly. Hold for three seconds. Out slowly. Wait for five. Repeat. Your fingers hold steady, and she manages to finish painting one hand before Chrissy addresses you directly.

"What do you think, y/n? Do you think they could be blue?"

You swallow against the lump that rises in your throat. "Hm?" You make a little questioning sound as you glance at your friend, looking into her face framed by supple strawberry-blonde waves, her bright blue eyes, her pink bow lips, her porcelain skin so radiant and beautiful.

"I was saying that I hope our baby has blue eyes, but Crystal said that brown eyes are, like, a dominant trait. So since Eddie has brown, he probably wouldn't."

"I mean, I wouldn't say I'm an authority," Crystal hedges, looking to you for your response.

You want to say, Chrissy, the thought of you having Eddie's baby makes me feel like I'm suffocating.

Instead, you squeeze out one single word. "He?"

"Oh, yeah." Chrissy looks a little sheepish, smiling softly as her shoulders squish up near her ears. "I kind of always say 'he' because I really want a boy. But Eddie wants a girl. I mean, honestly, I guess it doesn't matter what we have." Her face fills up with adoring affection. "He would be such an amazing girl dad. She'd be his little princess."

You'd do anything, give anything, not to hear another word.

The realization shifts something in you. It allows you to claw at the pillow Chrissy's inadvertently holding to your face, wrench it from your nose and mouth, and shred it until feathers rain around you in a cloud of soft down. By sheer force of will, you bury your emotions beneath the dark earth at the bottom of you until you can't feel them anymore.

"I think there's a chance the baby would have blue eyes," you say, straightening your spine, face perfectly pleasant. "It's not likely, but there's always a chance."

–

When Steve first proposed carpooling with Chrissy and Eddie to the airport, it seemed like a great idea. Now, it's agony.

When you'd returned to the hotel, Chrissy had asked the guys what they'd been up to while you were gone. "Oh, we just hung out," Steve replied easily, shooting her a lopsided grin as he wrapped his arm around you in greeting, dropping a kiss on the top of your head. Steve had acted entirely normal throughout your packing process, but you couldn't help but feel that Eddie seemed a little… off.

You didn't look at him often. Despite how you'd pushed your emotions down at the spa, it seemed the effect had been only temporary since the sight of Eddie's black and white caused you to ache deeply somewhere behind your ribs. Still, after so many evenings in his company, even the most fleeting glimpses of his brown eyes and pale face revealed a dullness that was obvious to you. He seemed harrowed. But he also seemed to be avoiding your gaze just as much as you were avoiding his, so you pushed your questions aside and focused your attention on returning home to normalcy.

You're sitting in the passenger seat of Steve's maroon BMW. He's driving with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting lightly against the gearshift. In the back seat, Chrissy has opted for the middle spot, pressing close to her boyfriend as he leans tiredly against the car door. You're all pretty worn out from the flight, sitting in the quiet wooshing of the highway as you think dully about the Monday morning of work you'll be facing tomorrow. You're already planning on taking a long hot shower, wrapping yourself in your coziest pajamas, and gorging on pizza and some indulgent Netflix show to unwind before bed. You can't wait until you and Steve drop Chrissy and Eddie off. Chrissy seems to share your sentiment.

"I can't wait 'til we get home." Chrissy is murmuring quietly, but in the hush of the car, you can hear her just fine. It's the first time someone has broken the silence the whole car ride, and you find yourself glancing automatically back to see Chrissy's hand high on Eddie's thigh as she crosses her legs toward him, cocking her head. "I'm gonna get you right in the shower, big boy."

You hear Eddie huff a brief chuckle, and you swallow to wet your suddenly dry throat. You swell with foreboding; dread sinks heavy in your stomach as a brief flash of that hot mortification echoes inside you again.

"What do you wanna do to me tonight?" Chrissy murmurs, voice pitched low and sultry, still quiet but horribly clear. Please, no. Don't make me listen to this, you beg silently, eyes flicking toward the side window as you curl up on yourself in preparation.

Chrissy continues talking. "Do you wanna try fucking my face again? That was fun last time."

There's an extended pause and then Eddie's answer. "If you want." You feel some vindictive relief at the impassiveness of his voice. Hot, prickly shame rushes in to follow, and you rest your chin on your palm, leaning your temple against the cool glass of the window. You don't want to listen, but after Eddie's response, you can't deny that a small part of you is hoping to hear that lack of enthusiasm from him continue. You may not want to listen, but your ears are honed on the back seat now, attentive to each little sound and shift in tone.

Chrissy's voice is suddenly lower, more seductively teasing. "You know I love it when you get me all sloppy."

You don't dare to look; you keep perfectly still, waiting for Eddie's response. And you hear a subtle shifting of fabric, like one of them is moving to touch the other or fidgeting with their hands. Maybe Eddie is twisting his rings in that nervous habit of his.

Again, it heartens you, his lackluster response. And you know it's wrong to take pleasure in it, but you can't help yourself. Later, you can chastise yourself for your selfishness. Now, you're grasping it like a lifeline. You're reaching for anything that can relieve the oppressive suffocation you'd experienced in the nail salon. Because you know that ache can't be suppressed forever. You know it will return, and you'll latch on to anything that may alleviate at least some of it.

You hear Chrissy giggle suddenly. "Or…" She sounds even foxier now. "You could always…" She trails off pointedly, and you can hear the smile in her voice. You know what Eddie will do; it's clear what Chrissy wants.

"What?" he asks, obliging her.

"You know…" she murmurs, husky and low. There's a rustle and then the barest suggestion of words, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. You realize she must be whispering in Eddie's ear.

His sudden shocked huff nearly startles you; you hear the slight wet sound of him swallowing thickly. "Would you like that?" Chrissy asks, all smug and low with knowing pleasure.

Eddie chuckles disbelievingly. That smoke voice rasps low. "What kind of question is that? 'Would you like that?' Of course, I'd fuckin' like that—"

The slight relief twists violently into pain behind your ribs; the ache resurges, throbbing as you begin to suffocate again.

With trembling fingertips painted dove gray, you switch on the radio.

–

It's one o'clock in the morning, and your pain has finally subsided into hollowness. You'd worn your mask for the remainder of the day. You'd worn it while dropping Chrissy and Eddie off at their apartment. You'd worn it during the ride back to yours, where you wrote down all the groceries you needed for the week in your Notes app to be picked up after work tomorrow. You'd worn it while showering, while changing into your pajamas, while relaxing on the couch watching an indulgent Netflix show with your feet in Steve's lap. And now, Steve is asleep, so you no longer need to maintain your mask. It's somewhat of a relief, but it can't compensate for the whiplash of events that occurred on this vacation. On some level, you feel like everything has changed. But laying here, empty and hollow, you realize that, in reality, nothing has.

You hope your hollowness persists. Maybe, with hollowness in place of the ache, you can put this weekend behind you and pick back up right where you left off before you'd gone on this vacation.

The phone buzzes.

You blink, staring at the bright screen of your phone on your bedside table for a long moment, long enough for it to go black again. You know who the message is from because only one person texts you this late in the evening. You consider leaving it for tomorrow morning and just going to sleep instead. You're certainly tired enough.

You drag the phone underneath the covers with you.

You open the message, which includes a small block of text and, curiously, an mp3 file rather than a Spotify link. You dully pull out your earbuds automatically, fitting them in your ears before you read the message.

Eddie has written, 'Been working on this one for a while now. Finally finished recording it right before our trip and wanted to share it with you. Let me know what you think.'

Your heart stutters and thumps, and the feeling is not entirely pleasant. As you stare at the file waiting to be opened and played, you waver with indecision. You've never hesitated to listen to one of the songs Eddie has shared with you. But then, you'd never before broken the rules by kissing him. And he'd never before made you orgasm. And you've never before sat in a nail salon, listening to his girlfriend talk about becoming his wife and having his children.

In the end, what finally persuades you to make your decision is not any of those things. It's the memory of Eddie's bouncing knee, of his white knuckles as he glared at the sea, grappling with your kind words. Struggling to accept that you'd listened to his regret and shame and countered with all the parts of him you cherish.

As soon as you hear it, you pause on the chorus, stunned by Eddie's voice, how it's gritty and cracking with the force of his growl. ' Placed inside, safe and sound. Shades of colors are all I see. ' You listen to it once and then immediately play it again and again. You're fixated on it— the way Eddie sings about being 'safe and sound.' The way his voice sounds so raw. An odd image comes to you: a man's pale back pricked by sharp nails, flowing crimson onto sheets. It makes no sense, but it also makes you ill, so you push the image away and hit replay.

You listen to the song again and think about how Chrissy said she wants to have a boy, but Eddie wants a girl. It suddenly becomes so obvious: how they've discussed getting married and having kids, and you don't even know when Eddie's birthday is. You're thinking about how you've never been to their apartment. You're wondering what their apartment looks like. What their bed looks like. And then you're thinking about how Eddie keeps Chrissy warm in it every night. And once you think that, you can't stop the questions that tumble one after another.

Does he touch her like he touches you?

Does he fuck her like he fucks you?

Does he moan against her neck when he cums inside her?

Does he hold her while she cries?

Does he steal one last touch before he leaves the bed to wash up?

Does she get to see the gentleness in his eyes? Does that gentleness spread over his whole face? You know that it can. Your knowledge comes deep from the bottom of you, where your green sprouts forth. Does Eddie's gentleness spread for Chrissy that way? The way you've never gotten to see it?

The suffocating ache wells up. It leaks silently from your eyes. It's all too much. You feel too much.

For the first time, you don't answer Eddie's message.

#tkym #blueywrites #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #steve harrington #chrissy cunningham

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loadedberetta · 2 years

Text

Impulse Part 1 - (1/2) Ghost x fReader x Soap

rating: E/18+ minors DNI

summary: A little confession goes a long way.

warnings: *deep breath* Porn With Plot; Threesome F/M/M; Reader with female anatomy & pronouns; open relationship; unprotected PiV sex (wrap ya tools); creampie; oral f/m receiving; SoapGhost; IUD/contraceptive talk; light biting scratching marking; light sub/dom dynamics; breathplay; praise; holistic imagery here and there; hints of voyeurism; being called "sir" in bed; size kink is you squint your eyes

word count: 5.7k

[EDIT: the work continues on ao3]

find me on ao3 // MASTERLIST

Interact only if you're over 18. Proceed beyond this point with caution. Every work of mine has a general warning.

gif by me using ezgif

a/n: SoapGhost with a Reader insert I'm not responsible for her. homoerotic af these two are the dream couple. Ghost is a service dom, Johnny is a switch and reader you're a bottom aren't you. MINORS GTFO :)) let the smut commence

You were standing at the door for an uncomfortably long time now, the porcelain dish getting heavier by the second in your hands. Not talking about the Tupperware balanced on top of it full of your nan's biscuits.

Finally, you heard some shuffling from inside the house, just as you tried elbowing the doorbell again with "MacTavish" written above it.

Keys turned, and your neighbour Johnny looked out the door he opened just slightly before recognizing you and fully swinging it open.

- Hello, love! - he called you with the pet name he had used countless times for you. You didn't mind, hell, you enjoyed the attention you received from the Scot next door. You had been in his sights for quite some time now.

The sudden realization that you indeed had a big, sloppy crush on him drew interesting lines on your face, making your cheeks burn. You spoke too quickly to seem uninterested.

- My nan dumped all this food on me, and I obviously can't eat it all before it goes bad. I heard you arrive yesterday night and I- - you rambled on.

He let you talk, and his tired and light blue eyes lingered on you. You basked at the moment for just a second too long, and it turned awkward.

- C'me on in and, uh... let's get this sorted out - Johnny flashed a small, tired smile at you that still would have knocked most women off their feet.

Come in? You were wearing your large tracksuit bottoms you still had from back at your alma mater down in Cornwall and a huge jumper you only dared to wear at home it had so many oil stains and other unidentified marks on it. But most of all, what bothered you above all else was the fact that you were scarcely wearing any underwear. Yes, there was a vest under all that but that was all. And a pair of socks, it was only spring after all.

You've never been inside Johnny's apartment before. You figured it was the same layout as yours, just mirrored. Remembering where the walls stood before you had your side remodeled, you pieced the layout together quickly.

Johnny had already disappeared into the small kitchen, and you could hear the almost cartoonish sounds of pots and pans clanging.

You took a quick look around as you were insanely curious about what he could own inside the tiny home. You noticed some coats hanging from the wall, mounted on a retrofitted coat rack. There were some jackets you recognized, a navy blue and a grey one for sure. You were so preoccupied with taking in the sights, you didn't notice Johnny poking his head out the kitchen door. He rested his vision on the lines of your shoulders for a moment before addressing you. Hearing your name surely scared you. You've maybe heard him say it once or twice before, and you remembered your thighs clamping together with wanton washed over by embarrassment each time.

He chuckled. - Come in, I dinnae... bite - he finished as if he couldn't figure out what he meant by that himself.

To punctuate the sentence, he took the box of biscuits off you, as if to coax you into the kitchen. His movements were quick and to the point. He didn't move a muscle that didn't need to be moved. Taking a few steps forward, you crossed the threshold of the small, but neat kitchen. He turned over to his fridge and opened it.

You wished you could take a picture of the moment. It almost looked domestic.

His voice was a little muffled as he spoke: - I s'pose you don't want leftover kebab from yesterday. Coffee machine's gubbed too - he pointed behind himself at a half-disassembled coffee maker.

You snickered. - It's fine, Johnny. You don't have to give me something back every time - you teased him for when he went to Tesco to just get you a slice of cake last autumn when you lent him a spanner from your toolbox, the exact measurement that he was missing from his kit.

You let him keep it after. He didn't know, but red velvet cake was your absolute favourite dessert.

He dumped the cookies out into one of his own containers and exhanged the empty one with the heavy porcelain still resting in your arms. You sighed with relief. Relief... and yearning, and much more. But he didn't need to know that.

You shuffled around awkwardly. - It's cottage pie. - A realization struck. - You eat meat, right?

You've made this mistake before, bringing prosciutto canapés to a vegan friend's housewarming party. Your face flared up. Again.

Seeing Johnny lean back against his counter, easy morning light bouncing off his massive shoulders eased your mood a little, however, it did little for the warmth spreading across your face. - I wouldnae last a day out in the field - he said plainly.

Oh, yes... He was in the military. You didn't know which branch. You didn't recognize brass, like ever. You didn't dare look it up either, as if he could see your search history just by looking at you for some reason.

- How was deployment? Bearable? - you asked uncomfortably, now that a general silence had set in between the two of you. Still, neither of you dared (or wanted?) to move.

Dust particles played in the streaks of morning light.

- I didnae get shot this time - he replied nonchalantly, probably to ease the tension. He was comfortable talking about stuff like this.

This time. The comment forced a small amount of air out of your lungs.

- I'm just a wall over if you ever... need help. - you tried wording your offer.

Johnny smiled and traced a hand through his mohawk. The hair choice fit him perfectly. He let it grow out a little a while ago, and you practically chewed your lips bloody every time you saw him. - Thanks.

You caught yourself looking at his hair. You looked away in embarrassment as his hand stopped mid-air. He had to have seen it. You immediately bit your lip and tried focusing your stare elsewhere.

You heard him suppress a small laugh.

- What? - he asked as you sucked your lips in.

- I just... - you tried burying your face into your collarbone, - it's, okay...

You huffed a breath and gathered every ounce of courage in your body. It felt unreal, as you asked him; - I was wondering-- I've been meaning to ask you- if you-- Would you like to grab a coffee with me sometime?

There. You said it, there was no going back from there anymore.

You blinked up at him, the morning sun illuminating his features painted him to be an angel. A deathly handsome, and quite cute angel at that. You couldn't have seen if he blushed or not. You hoped he did.

His hands dug into his hair again. This time you didn't look away, awaiting his answer, and allowing yourself a look now that your intentions were clear.

- I'd-I'd love to.

Oh no. Here it goes.

- I'd love to, - he repeated himself as your heart thrummed with anticipation at an incredible pace - ...but I'm kind of seeing someone at the moment.

Fuck. You pressed your lips into a thin line and looked down at the tiled floor. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

- ...is that a problem for you? - you heard Johnny ask from seemingly below the water, as his words were barely audible behind the blood rushing in your ears.

You looked dumbfounded at him; - For me?

Is he asking--

- Yes, for you. It's uh... an open relationship - he pulled you from your thoughts gently.

Relief and excitement washed over you. It was more than okay.

- So... so that's a yes? - you asked unsurely.

- If you're in, I am too - he smiled at you. The rays of the sun behind him were accentuating his already broad shoulders and shone through his freshly ruffled hair.

- What didya have in mind? - he crossed his arms in front of himself, gently pushing his pecs upward. You could tell he consciously eased his accent for your sake.

You laughed a little in nervousness. - Nothing really, I didn't have this thought out, sorry - you palmed your arm with your crossed hands. Intrusive thoughts.

He moved. Grabbing the cottage pie, he squat down and put it in the fridge.

- If you didnae 'ave an idea, I might do - he muttered from behind the fridge door.

- You... do? - you asked still in disbelief, waiting to wake up from a dream in your bed, sweaty and turned on, already reaching for your bedside drawer.

- But that involves skipping first base - he rose from behind the door, eyes trained on you.

Oh.

No, this had to be a dream.

Your confidence seemed to have vanished from earlier. Fucking gone, that's what you were reduced to. Suddenly, you were very aware that you had no panties or a bra on, the fact totally evading your mind when your mouth was bigger than you could have handled.

Johnny must have noticed you became startled, as he raised his hands slightly, unhooking them from in front of himself.

- Dinnae fash yersel', sweetheart. All in due time - he spoke in a honeyed voice that somehow made his suddenly sharp accent sound mellow and welcoming.

- I didn't mean-- I- - you fumbled with words as you still struggled to comprehend the fact that not only has he agreed to go out with you but that he already broke the first-date-kind-of ice between the two of you in just under a minute.

- You dinnae mean what? - he pushed himself away from the counter and rose to his full height. He almost looked divine in the increasingly warm lighting of the raising sun.

You seem to have forgotten all the English, or frankly any language you might have known.

- I mean I'm free whenever... - you managed to pull a coherent sentence together relatively fast, surprising yourself. You tried looking anywhere but at Johnny out of fear of combusting on the spot if you did.

He adjusted his white cotton shirt before he opened his mouth to speak. One sly motherfucker.

- So, even now? - he asked as he flattened the shirt on his abdomen. He knew what he was doing.

Reality has been defied so many times that day, you might as well have said yes. And you did; - Yeah, I mean---

You could barely finish your sentence, as Johnny crashed into you, knocking you off-balance and into the kitchen wall behind you. It was all so sudden, cathartic and electric, that your instincts kicked in before anything else could have connected in your brain. You found each other's hungry lips effortlessly and melted into a sloppy and erratic succession of deep kisses. Devouring eachother, your body jolted with electricity, as did his. His hands never stopped, rumpling your jumper upwards, and dipping his fingers just past the waistband of your joggers experimentally. For a good while, the kitchen was filled with nothing else but rustles and moans growing in volume.

Staccato whimpering broke from his mouth moving on from yours to nip at your neck, as you dipped your nails into his back through his shirt, earning a particularly strong bite to your jugular accompanied by an open-mouthed groan. The rush of adrenaline that was already brimming your floodgates threatened to burst even heavier afterward.

- Hey, hey-- - you breathed at him, your one hand moving up to his neck and head to catch his attention.

Johnny immediately rose from lapping your collarbone with his tongue, letting your shirt go, the neckline of which was irreparably loosened and torn.

- Hm? - he hummed attentively, raising his own hand to your cheek and gently cupping it. - Too much?

- Yes- I mean no,... - you tried, looking off to the side. Your mouth was red and burning from the five o'clock shadow Johnny sported, breath spent and clothes tousled, you didn't need less. You needed...

- ...slower? - he asked, head cocked to the side like a giant puppy to try and catch your gaze. He slid his broad hands down to rest them on your waist, and a strand of hair fell into his face, enhancing his most captivating feature yet. He finished your sentence, and you just nodded with warmth spreading in your body, feeling comfortable, yet still turned on by his presence.

There wasn't another word exchanged between the two of you, as your lips melted again, this time with less rush and fever, but not a hair less passionate. This time, Johnny took his time to explore you, to take in every curve, nook and cranny that your body had on display. At one point, he picked you up, and set you down on the small dining table, slotting his heavy body between your thighs, spreading them at a heavenly angle that let you grind against the fabric of the tablecloth. Your pleasure ramped up again as Johnny's palms settled on the apex of your thighs, foreshadowing what he had in store for you later.

You've almost lost touch with this world, as you were so enveloped in his. His small, shallow breaths matched yours, and he utilized his size advantage on you efficiently. He smelled of body wash and linen sheets with a hint of gunpowder and sweat that matched his energy perfectly. It felt as if his touch was everywhere, his eyes saw your purest and his lips tasted your innermost core. You've lost track of time and forgot where you were, or who you were frankly.

- Morning to you too Johnny... - the grumbling voice almost made you choke.

You jumped, and your thighs clamped together, trying to hide the obvious. Recoiling from Johnny's face in front of yours, you looked in the direction of the kitchen door where the voice came from.

A large, looming figure stood in the doorway, barely fitting into the comfortably sized opening. He was dressed in soft jammies, but every item on him was black. The white of his skin that invited your gaze was barely visible in the large eye-slit of the balaclava he donned, as the proximity of his eyes was painted with something resembling a grayish-black eyeshadow. It would have been an understatement to call him frightening. With the mandible and jawbone painted on his mask, his eyes lidded and exhausted, he looked like the Devil incarnate.

- Haw, it isna good wae to introduce yerself to a guest! - Johnny's accent thickened as he spoke incredibly fast. While talking, he hugged you closer to him as you froze in his embrace. - Hen's hidin' awae, look - he referred to you huddled close to his chest, your hands tucked between you and him, face disappearing into his shirt. You tried to disappear, to sink into the ground, or vanish into thin air, but you remained in the tight embrace of Johnny, locked in that warm spot you secretly never wanted to get out of.

A moment later, his embrace eased just the slightest, and a hand touched your chin, tilting it upwards against Johnny's pecs. You leaned into the gentle guidance and lifted your head for your eyes to see over Johnny's shoulders.

- And why's she hidin' away? - the voice asked, now from behind Johnny. Your eyes met his, as he stared down at you with Johnny between the two of you. The sun shone through the wisps of his mask and painted a silvery halo around his head, his dark eyes being the only counterweight to the angelic look he suddenly donned. Those deep, searching eyes were of a sinner, who had given up on repentance and embraced the devilish chaos life has chosen for him.

- Ah dinnie ken... - you heard Johnny's teasing voice rumble through his broad chest, as he slightly moved and trembled. - Ghost-- - Johnny's voice choked as you felt him shudder around you.

The apparition must have been called Ghost. He spoke:

- An' why don't we give her a good time? - he cooed into Johnny's shoulder in the most affectionate form of Mancunian you've ever heard. Your full attention focused at that point on the light scratches Ghost painted on Johnny's neck with his covered mouth that made the man under him shudder and whimper swearwords into the thick air. Ghost's hand snaked down Johnny's side and rested on your thigh. His hands were even broader than Johnny's, resting more firmly on your plump flesh, squeezing it very light almost as if he was introducing himself to you.

You felt Ghost's sly other hand slot between you and Johnny, and find the hem of his jammies, slightly touching your thighs with the back of his hand. - 'can feel you're already mad for it, Johnny... - he purred into his ear as his hand on your thigh shifted to your bum to nudge you closer to the two of them. Your cunt clenched and electricity crackled up your spine as your inner thigh met Ghost's strong hand massaging the stiffie Johnny sported. You and Johnny shared a moan and Ghost's rasped chuckle echoed in the wake of the sounds the two of you made.

You canted your hips down to catch some friction on the table, but your attempts were quickly shut down by Johnny, who'd come back down to Earth to swiftly swoop you up with a growl to carry you deeper into the dark flat. Over his shoulders, you saw Ghost give him an appreciative smack on the arse before following him, eyes trained on you like a dark guardian. Images swirled in your head of fallen angels you'd learned about from your friends when trading urban legends at sleepovers, long ago. Ghost seemed like every single one of those spawns in one terrifying amalgam, yet he was his unique figure in a sinful and wicked vessel that was his battered body.

Johnny in the meantime, muttered small praises into your ears as if he was confessing. The journey wasn't long to the dim bedroom, but his praise was indeed efficient and resulted in you soaking your grey joggers even more. You rested and bobbed against his soft body and raging erection constantly, which was also a big positive.

Instead of throwing you down onto the bed, as you expected, he sat down on the hard mattress and let you straddle him. His hands were quickly at work, kneading your cheeks with deadly accuracy as you heard the faint creaking of a floorboard behind you. That was all the warning you got before Ghost's hands appeared on the edge of your vision and settled on Johnny's shoulders.

- Sweetheart, - you heard his voice call to you... or to Johnny? - do you want this?

Realizing it was you he addressed - having not been told your name -, you answered him a breathy 'yes', as Johnny continued to lap circles around the spots he already nibbed on your neck. Ghost's hands slipped onto your shoulders, gently massaging them with keen precision.

- We got tested before last deployment... - Johnny stopped for a moment, resting his hands on the sweet spot of bunched-up flesh at your hips.

The two pairs of hands on you felt... comforting. You were in safe hands. Safe, big, and strong hands at that, their owners ready to make you have the best time of your life. You trusted Johnny, and he trusted Ghost, which meant you did too.

- 'mclean too... - you swallowed some air into your thirsty and deprived lungs. - Got an IUD, so don't worry about---

- Oh I won't... - Ghost's hand slipped under your jaw and tilted your head up forcefully with a trained, fluid movement. Your neck became exposed, allowing Johnny to return to his ministrations. - Do you want to get filled up, sweetheart? - Ghost purred from above you, as he forced your gaze to catch his.

- Yes - you strained to talk or even to breathe, and Johnny's renewed attempts to shower you with affection didn't make it easier either.

- You... you call me sir, understood? - he tightened his grip on your jaw as you felt your quickening heartbeat in your throat, your skin bruising under his fingers.

- Yes... sir - you breathed out, as he let you go.

Falling onto Johnny's shoulder, you breathed in deeply a few times. He came to stroke your back a couple of times comfortingly before letting his hand fall onto the small of your back, pushing you onto his tenting erection. You shuddered a moan and bucked your hips into his lap, earning yourself a playful smack on your bum.

The two of them were so different, yet the extensions of the other. Johnny was playful, reckless, and intuitive, while Ghost seemed to be more meticulous and sober with a hint of sinful wickedness, the two of their personalities slotting together like puzzle pieces. You didn't feel like an intruder to them somehow. They made you feel honoured, worshipped, and as if you were in the right hands. Not one movement was misplaced, not one word misheard.

- You listen to me and Ghost, yes? - Johnny breathed into your ear as he pushed you down on himself. - Bonnie? - he asked you again when you failed to respond as you bit down on your lips hard in order to stifle a feral grunt, a hint to your embarrassingly growing pleasure just by dry-humping Johnny.

- I-- yes. - you forced out, and a staggered cry followed after.

- Sweetheart, turn around. - you heard Ghost order from behind you. Johnny helped to flip you towards Ghost, your back now facing his abdomen, his sheathed cock slotted between your bruised cheeks.

Your jaw hung slack as you took the sight of him in, finally from close-up in the screened darkness of the bedroom. You realized how tall he was really, from the angle from below. The light snaking in below the drawn blinds hinted at his strong face and did justice in lighting his broad shoulders and sides, supported by two long treestumps of legs. You only hoped he'd be this well-equipped everywhere, and it soon looked like you'd get a taste of the masked revenant.

- Good girl... - he praised as he raised his hand to stroke your face, and slotted his thumb in your welcoming mouth. - Show me how pretty you can suck it dry.

Your cunt clenched empty in agony as Johnny's hands dipped under your waistband from behind, and started kneading your thighs, inching his way slowly toward your aching centre. You shivered, as Ghost tested the waters on how unleashed he can be with you by dipping his finger deeper into your mouth and swirling it around.

- Sir... - you were surprised for a moment as you heard Johnny from behind you call out to Ghost with aching need.

- Can he? - Ghost found your teary eyes and cocked his head with question.

You gave him a dazed nod and an appreciative 'mhm' with his thumb still in your mouth.

- Go ahead, Johnny - he reassured him in almost a sweet voice. He didn't move until he received the command.

Finally, Johnny's hands brushed against your mound and struck your centre gently for the first time. Ghost deftly removed his finger from your mouth as you let your head fall back onto Johnny's shoulder. His hands were strategic, precise, and deadly, just like on the battlefield, and the thought terrified and turned you on at the same time. They could have used their strength to kill you with ease, but rather took pleasure in working you up to the high heavens.

Your eyes squeezed shut and your hands flew back to grip Johnny's neck behind you, and pulled him closer, urging him to work up his speed. Hips involuntarily shuddering above him, he let out a few satisfied growls himself. You noticed a grip around one wrist and Ghost drew your hand to himself. His legs moved closer and spread yours - as well as Johnny's - further apart, opening you fully to the hand already working you.

Already coated in your leaking slick, Johnny's fingers slid between your lips with wispy ease just as your hand disappeared under Ghost's when he pressed it against his own clothed, half-hard cock.

- You feel what you're doing to me and him, do you? - he asked you but expected no response.

You really couldn't answer, as for when Johnny's two fingers slipped inside of you a moment later, you only had a sharp moan to spare. Your walls clenched around the digits entering you, and they filled you well enough for now. The stretch wasn't uncomfortable, but you knew you had so much more coming. He moved, friction practically none as your wetness made everything sloppy and velvety. To make up for the missed sensation, Johnny's thumb worked your needy clit, flicking it seemingly aimlessly. You knew, hell, you felt how precise his movements were, however, how trained he must have been.

In the meantime, Ghost didn't let your wrist escape, instead used your hand as a toy to catch some friction and ease his painful ache. You were stuck in the most beautiful scene of all; two men eager to touch you as well as eachother, with you following suit. You would have never thought this is how your day would go when you left your apartment a door over that morning with a faint voice in the back of your head telling you to ask Johnny out for a coffee. This was so much more honest and guttural, the true reflection of your feelings towards him. And Ghost added into the mix, not a notch less arousing or attractive than Johnny, you had your plate full, and you wanted seconds.

- Trousers, off - Ghost commanded and pulled your soaking wet joggers down in one movement, the fabric digging into your skin violently. Your legs shut slightly for him to remove the piece of fabric from you, but opened immediately after, as Johnny had worked you up to the edge already.

- Come on, no- don't stop-- - you whimpered into the thick air while flexing your leg muscles to heighten the sensation of the impending finish you neared.

- Needy little cunt you have... - Ghost purred from above you. - Come on, Johnny, give it to her. - he ordered, and he delivered.

Drawing an intense and prolonged cry from you, he carried you through your high. You knew Ghost was watching, probably already touching himself, but instead of feeling embarrassed, a wanton feeling washed over you and carried your trembling body into overstimulation.

Panting, you realized how tightly you held onto Johnny's nape with both hands, escaping Ghost's grip sometime in the past few hazy minutes. You knew this was a brief stop instead of a final destination, so you looked through your teary lashes up to Ghost, only to see him lowering himself onto his knees in front of the bed you and Johnny were perched on.

- Bonnie, I- - Johnny's hand gave your oversensitive mound a last love tap before taking his opportunity to look over your shoulders at your unclothed thighs with Ghost's head settling between them.

- Need you in me, Johnny-- - you panted at him, heart racing from what had just transpired and in anticipation for what might be coming next.

Johnny made quick work of his jammies and in a moment, his weeping cock waited at your entrance, nudging you ever so slightly with each breath he took. In one swift movement, he was in you. Filling you halfway for a moment, you breathed into the stretching sensation and squeezed your eyes shut still overstimulated. He pushed further, the fiery sensation transforming into something otherwordly, and taking residence deep in the pit of your stomach. He didn't move at first, not until you did, drawing a shaky moan deep from his lungs. Finally, you opened your eyes, searching for Ghost.

He was there, watching. Unwavering, he was kneeling by the edge of the bed. One of his hands appeared from underneath, and with ungodly slyness settled low on your stomach. He looked over your shoulder, locking eyes with Johnny.

- You've been good Johnny. You've earned your reward - he mouthed his words barely louder than a whisper.

Johnny's breath hitched, and he flinched. You felt his head fall on your shoulder, and he grit his teeth together. - Move. - Ghost drilled into your eyes with his stare, but you knew the command wasn't meant for you. Mostly because as soon as the words left Ghost's mouth, Johnny started pounding into you with careless, shallow thrusts.

- Lean back, MacTavish - Ghost ordered. As you've accustomed to it happening, Johnny did, leaving your back exposed but his hands free. Your sex still exposed towards Ghost, his hand slid lower on your stomach, his thumb eventually reaching your clit, millimetres away from Johnny's cock fucking the living soul out of you. Most of this, you only felt, as your eyes slammed shut the moment Johnny started moving in you, filling you to the brim with the delicious stretch you so craved. Added to the mix were Ghost's deft fingers playing with your clit, and the dangerous composite of almost volatile sensations threatened to go off with a devastating explosion. You didn't see, rather felt that his other hand was at work too. Johnny writhed under you, palming every surface of your body with desperation, hinting at the fact that Ghost was working on him along with you.

Ghost's hands played carelessly with his balls, making Johnny see stars.

- Fill her up for me, would ya, Johnny? - Ghost purred as it was your turn again to climb the ladder up into heaven in search of another orgasm to be ripped from you by Ghost and Johnny.

Unable to answer, Johnny only let out a shaky moan from underneath you, that hurled you towards the finish line. You weren't shy with your own noises, but soon determined you couldn't have been if you wanted to. Ghost was somehow even more light and fiendish with his moves as if reciting adoration with his hands, flicking through pages, or tapping the keys of an organ all in the name of worship. It was you, it was Johnny who he worshipped with endless adoration and devotion.

In a spur-of-the-moment decision, he unhooked his plush mask from his jaw and pushed it above his lips onto his nose. You saw this as you opened your eyes when you felt his hands disappear from you, leaving you breathless on the way to another orgasm. Johnny kept his shattering pace, although his thrusts became shallower, letting you rely on Ghost's touch more.

Catching a glance at his unmasked jaw made you notice how pale he really was. The moment didn't last long, as he bestially licked his lips only to extend the flat of his pink tongue while moving towards the spot you and Johnny were conjoined. You bit your lips maybe a little too hard, but the pain only spurred you on more.

- Fucking-- - Johnny gave meaning to the breath forced out of his lungs underneath you as Ghost's tongue pressed against the underside of his cock, his hands still pawing at his extremely oversensitive balls. His hands squeezed your hip, and nails dug into your side, making you hiss in pain, but none of you cared.

Soon, Ghost's tongue teased your clit, and it was your turn to crumble. Palpitating sobs left your mouth, and a tear rolled down your cheek that got caught on the edge of your mouth, salty taste melting into your saliva.

- Good girl, sweetheart. Good. - Ghost praised in the moments his mouth wasn't smothered on you, but you barely heard it over the ringing in your ears as your pleasure erratically built in you.

You didn't need long as you clung onto dear life not to take you out with the force of your second orgasm. It wasn't as long as the first one, but it took you with equal force, pulling the strength out of you from even deeper. Your whole body became electric as you clamped down on Johnny, and a stray cry left your mouth travelling all the way to the high heavens.

White flashes barely faded from the edge of your vision as Johnny sat up and embraced you, locking you into place as he came with erratic and sloppy thrusts. Ghost sang with praise the whole way, which staggered you.

- Take it, Johnny. Good boy. You deserve this.

You couldn't have imagined how a gruff man like him could be so devoted and ready to give. Yes, he took what he wanted, but his acts showed how deeply he cared about Johnny and apparently... you.

Pounding the last of his seed deep into you, Johnny fell back on the bed with a thud but remained sheathed in you. Ghost got up and opened a drawer nearby, pawing in it for a fresh towel. When he found one, he locked eyes with you and you understood him. You slipped off of Johnny and shakily got up, reaching for the towel. Instead of giving it to you, Ghost squat down and cleaned you up, holding your shaky waist with one hand for leverage as his other roamed around your body draped in the scratchy towel.

You instinctively rested your hand on his shoulder for the same leverage. When he was done, and you were clean, he nodded his head towards the bed. Johnny was laying propped up on his elbows, watching the two of you share an erotic yet domestic moment. His heart fluttered, but only he could feel it.

Ghost threw the rag at Johnny as you climbed back into bed but you were faster than him, and snatched it off his belly, where it landed. You cleaned him off diligently as Ghost rounded the bed and without a word, sat on - presumably - his side. His mask was back on his whole face, but the white paint glistened here and there, making you remember how precise and--

Ghost's purr pulled out of your thoughts. He looked like a crow or a puddle of what used to be a crow as Johnny's figure loomed into your vision, appearing on Ghost's side, laying a still trembling hand on his abdomen. Both their eyes were still full of lust and want, and so were yours.

- Fun's not over yet, sweetheart. - Ghost smiled under his mask as Johnny grabbed you by the ankles and pulled you closer to them, planting soft kisses up your leg as you skidded closer.

part 1 (2/2) coming tomorrow

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