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jasontoddsmommyissues · 10 months

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Unsmooth Operator

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Femme!Reader

Summary: It’s summer in Hawkins and Eddie finds himself caught up on the cute girl working at the record store in the mall

Warnings: Reader uses she/her pronouns, brief mentions of sexual content (nothing sexual actually happens), swearing, potentially lethal levels of adorableness

A/N: First of all, sorry it’s been so long since I posted my last fic. My poor little ADHD self is a slow writer, I’m afraid. But anyway, I kind of wrote this as a sort of prequel to my Henderson!Reader fic, but there’s no direct mention of Reader being related to anyone, so you can either read it as that or not. Also, special thanks to Mr. Joseph Quinn for confirming that Eddie Munson has no game.

My Master List | Ao3

It’s June in Hawkins and the summer heat has already grown practically unbearable. The shitty window A/C unit Eddie’s been using has finally crapped out, and in the heat of the day the trailer is approximately the temperature of the sun. Mercifully, he’s found a sweet, air conditioned refuge in the newly built Starcourt mall, a temple to 20th century decadence and consumerism that also happens to be a very pleasant temperature inside.

Jeff and Gareth are tagging along today, which is fun except for the quick pit stop they had to make at the homegoods store so Gareth could pick up some new linens for his mom. They’ve finished that now, though, and Eddie’s already got their next destination in mind.

“I’m gonna do it”, Gareth insists as they go, “I’m gonna get a tattoo.”

“Your mom would kill you”, Jeff replies.”remember when she caught you smoking? I thought she wasn’t going to let us see you ever again after that.”

“It’s different now”, Gareth tells him, “I’m 16. I’m gonna be a junior. It’s time I make my own choices, you know?”

“Good luck with that”, Jeff laughs.

“Let’s hit the record store next”, Eddie cuts in, “I want to pick up the new Bob Dylan album for Wayne.”

“More like you wanna see the cute girl working the register”, Jeff teases.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”, Eddie retorts, desperately hoping his cheeks aren’t actually turning as red as he thinks they are.

In truth, he does have an ulterior motive for wanting to go to the record store, and it is you. You’ve been going to Hawkins High for the past three years, but admittedly Eddie had never really been more than vaguely aware of your existence until this past semester, when you two had PE together. He had this routine he’d do where he would imitate the gym teacher when the man wasn’t looking, and it never failed to elicit a giggle from you. One day Eddie noticed how cute you looked when you laughed and well, he’s been a little bit stuck on you ever since.

“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Gareth comments, as if it’s just that easy.

Sweet, naive Gareth. Maybe for guys like Steve Harrington it’s that easy, but Eddie isn’t Steve Harrington. Gareth wasn’t there for Eddie’s early high school days. He wasn’t there during Eddie’s sophomore year when two hot juniors decided to prank him by convincing him their cheerleader friend was “super into him” or his junior year when he invited that girl from drama club to join Hellfire and she laughed out loud at him. Most girls don’t even want to be seen with Eddie “the Freak” Munson, let alone date him.

“Jeff’s talking out of his ass”, Eddie lies, “come on, let’s go.”

You are, of course, there at the counter when they walk in, and oh God, is that an Iron Maiden shirt you’re wearing? Fuck, as if he couldn’t be more into you.

“Um, Eddie, you good dude?” Gareth asks him and he realizes he’s stopped right there in the entrance of the store, just staring at you. He quickly turns away and walks the rest of the way into the store, thankful that you’re currently checking out a customer and probably didn’t notice him ogling you like a total weirdo.

Admittedly, this may not have been a good idea, at least if he wants to convince Jeff and Gareth he’s not into you. He quickly grabs a Bob Dylan tape and starts making for the door, desperate to just get out of there and spare himself anymore humiliation.

“Um, you gonna pay for that?” Jeff asks and fuck. He’s shoplifted before but he’s not interested in getting barred from the record store, so he’s not gonna risk it today.

“Right”, he mutters and then he forces himself to go up to the counter.

He feels like his heart is going to explode in his chest when he walks up and you flash him that brilliant smile of yours.

“Hi, Eddie”, you greet and his eyes grow wide because you know his name. Well, obviously you did, you had a class together, but it just sounds so good coming from your mouth that he momentarily ceases to function.

“Did you need help with something?” you ask after a moment.

“What?” Eddie asks, “oh no. Just um, just this.”

He sets the tape on the counter and you grab it to ring it up.

“Dylan”, you comment as you do, “not your usual fare.”

“It’s for my uncle”, Eddie explains, “he’s a big fan.”

“Cool”, you say, “I like your vest by the way. Dio. Nice.”

Well, that’s it. It’s over. Eddie’s done for.

“That’ll be $6.30”, you say.

“Oh, right money”, Eddie sputters and fishes a ten out of his pocket. He knows Jeff and Gareth are standing nearby, watching this all play out and probably laughing with each other about it. He’s definitely never living this down.

“You want a bag”, you ask as you finish gathering his change.

“Oh, I um, I guess”, he replies, not actually processing the question. You hand him his change, then place the tape in a bag and slide it over to him. He goes to grab it, and because he’s not at all paying attention to anything but you, inadvertently sends the display of Beach Boy tapes sitting on the counter tumbling to the floor.

“Oh shit”, he hisses, “oh fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay”, you reply, coming around the counter, “I keep telling Doug he shouldn’t put that stuff so close to the register.”

You bend down to start picking up the tapes and years worth of Wayne’s lectures on behaving like a gentleman come flooding back to Eddie, so he quickly follows suit.

“Let me help you”, he says.

“Thanks”, you say and you’re smiling again and Eddie kind of wants to die.

With the two of you, it doesn’t take long to get everything cleaned up and back in order.

“I’m really sorry”, Eddie says again as you make your way back behind the counter, and then before he can stop himself, he blurts, “maybe I could make it up to you somehow?”

“What?” you ask, clearly unsure of what he means.

“I mean like, maybe I could buy you a-a coffee or something sometime”, he stammers.

You peer at him for a moment, and he braces for the inevitable rejection he’s about to endure.

“I like ice cream”, you say, “if you meet me here at 3 tomorrow, you can buy me some ice cream and we’ll call it even.”

Maybe Eddie’s already dead and this is heaven. That or he’s being punked somehow. Either way, he stands there like an idiot for a second, trying to process that you just suggested the two of you meet for ice cream.

“Um okay”, he says.

“Cool”, you grin, “see you then.”

“Right”, he says, “see you then.”

And then he’s swiping his bag from the counter and stiffly making his way back to Jeff and Gareth, his body still trapped in a state of shock.

“So”, Jeff prompts, “what was all that?”

“I um, I think I’m meeting her for ice cream tomorrow”, Eddie informs them.

The two younger boys exchange glances, mouths stretching into a matching pair of shit eating grins.

“Talking out of my ass, huh?” Jeff teases.

“Shut up”, Eddie snaps, “I’m just being polite okay? It’s not like a date or anything.”

“Sure it isn’t”, Gareth replies smugly.

“Whatever”, Eddie huffs and the others know not to continue the conversation, even if they spend the rest of the afternoon exchanging amused glances at each other.

Eddie waits until he’s back at the trailer to let everything sink in. When it does, he feels a vague sense of panic washing over him.

Embarrassing as it is, Eddie’s never had a real, serious girlfriend before. Hell, aside from a brief flirtation with Tammy Thompson that ended in a very awkward hand job in the school parking lot, he’s never really had any experience with girls (or boys for that matter) at all. And Tammy was the one that initiated that. He wasn’t even really into her, he was just desperate for some sort of female attention.

You, though, he is into you. Very, very much into you. And he has no idea what the hell he’s supposed to do or say. He finally, finally has a chance to go out with his dream girl, and he’s almost certainly going to say something wrong and scare you off like pretty much everyone he’s ever been into.

He wonders what the weather in Wisconsin is like this time of year, because he’s halfway to hopping in his van and heading there now, never to be seen or heard from in Hawkins, Indiana again.

Then again, maybe he’s over thinking it. It’s not like the word “date” ever came up in your conversation. Maybe this really is just him paying you back for his clumsiness, and afterwards you won’t even spare him a second thought. In the end, he figures that whatever the case, he’s not just going to leave you high and dry, so he has no choice but to go.

Eddie shows up outside the record store at 2:45 the next day. He stands there awkwardly, fiddling with his rings and secretly hoping that you don’t show up and he doesn’t have to deal with all of this.

No such luck though, you appear exactly at 3, looking as cute as ever in your jean skirt.

“Hey”, you greet and Eddie momentarily forgets how to speak.

“Hey”, he repeats, unable to formulate a coherent enough thought to do anything but copy your greeting.

“You ready to go?” you ask and he nods.

The record store is a fair bit away from Scoops Ahoy, and for probably the first time in his life, Eddie finds himself unsure of what exactly to say. Thankfully, you take the lead.

“So, have you heard Megadeth’s album?” you ask, “I got it the first day it came out and I love it.”

“Me too”, Eddie says, and he can feel himself being knocked out of his stupor then, “you know, my friends and I have a metal band.”

“Really?” you ask.

“Yeah”, he tells you, “we perform Wednesdays at the Hideout, if you ever want to come see us.”

“I’ll keep that in mind”, you smile and Eddie thinks his heart momentarily stops.

Walking into Scoops Ahoy with you by his side is an almost unreal experience. You and him go up to the counter and Steve Harrington is there in his little sailor suit that Eddie almost feels sorry that he’s forced to wear.

“Hey Steve”, you greet.

“Hey Y/N”, Steve replies, and then he notices that Eddie’s with you and he gets this super confused look on his face.

“So, uh, get whatever you want I guess”, Eddie says.

Once you two have ordered and gotten your ice cream, you eat it while idly wandering around the mall, just chatting about anything and everything. Eddie, as always, is frequently cracking jokes, and God is it mesmerizing to see the way you laugh in response.

It’s quite the disappointment when you’re finishing your ice cream and you’re bidding him farewell.

He knows he has to at least try to see you again so he tests the waters with a quick “that was fun, we should do it again sometime.”

“I’d like that”, you smile.

“Awesome”, he replies.

“Here”, you say, rooting around in your purse, “give me your hand.”

He obliges, and you produce a pen, which you use to scribble something onto his outstretched hand.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“My number”, you reply, “call me tonight or tomorrow?”

“Sure”, he tells you.

“Great”, you say, “I’ll see you, Eddie.”

“See you”, he says, hoping he doesn’t sound as absolutely lovesick to you as he does to himself.

You flash him one final smile before departing, and he just stands there awkwardly for a second, watching as you go. Once you’ve disappeared from sight and he’s snapped out of his trance, he peers down at the numbers you’d scrawled onto his hand. He has to remind himself that it’d be weird to get them tattooed onto himself permanently. He can’t believe that it worked. You went on a date with him, in public, and didn’t care if you were seen together. You laughed at his jokes. You gave him his number and asked to see him again. You liked him.

The trailer is as unbearably hot as ever when he returns, but for once, he doesn’t care. He’s too excited to call you later and hopefully set up another date.

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orpheusredux · 2 years

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Ride the Lightning

Summary: Eddie is hanging out in his girlfriend's bedroom when he discovers something... naughty and delightful.

Rating: NC17

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Reader. Established relationship

Warnings: Very, very smutty. No Minors! 18+ only. Canon compliant.

A/N: I have been writing this is fits and starts for weeks, but I just couldn't stop. I meant it to be a quick and dirty little drabble about a boy, and girl and her vibrator, but then I went and got feelings all over it and it turned out way longer than I intended too. Please consider reblogging, it really helps. Also, this way for my AO3 and my masterlists. 5433 wds

“Baby… what’s this?”

You look up from where you’re lying on your tummy on your bed reading a trashy romance novel to see your boyfriend of six months holding…

“Oh my God, Eddie! Put that back!”

…Your vibrator.

You met at a punk show in Indianapolis in the depths of Winter. Eddie was working the door, and when you walked up late to meet your pals who were already inside, he’d looked you up and down, given you a wrist stamp, and a wink, and ushered you in without asking for a dime.

It was almost as if he’d known the way to your heart was free gigs.

Later he’d “bumped into you” at the bar and bought you a drink. Then you bought him one. Then there were shots with the band. The next thing you knew the two of you were back at your apartment, sprawled across your ratty old sofa, his tongue in your mouth and your hand in his pants. You’d been dating ever since.

Being with Eddie was both delightfully easy, and head-fuckingly bizarre at the same time.

First of all, he was a metaller, and you’d only ever dated punks, stoners and on one less than stellar occasion, a party guy from California who wore pastel exclusively. You were not prepared for the level of energy Eddie brought to your relationship, the earnestness and often kind of confronting honesty. He told you he loved you three months in, and then proceeded to spend the next three months showing just how much.

“I learned the hard way not to fuck around,” he told you once, when you’d pressed him on how he could tell someone he loved them so easily. “I know for a fact you don't always get that tomorrow you're putting things off till. You know?”

Which brings you to the second thing: Eddie was from Hawkins, that town down state that had caught fire and burned to the ground - like the whole town. They called it Indiana’s Centralia, now, after that town out East that’d been burning for 30 years? That was Hawkins. Everyone had been evacuated and there was still a danger zone three miles deep around the place.

Eddie talked about it sometimes, not a lot, but enough for you to know he wasn’t over what had happened to him there. All you knew was he’d seen some shit, been badly hurt and never wanted to go back. Except… as much as he hated the place, as much as it scared him and he never wanted to see it again, it was like he knew one day he’d have to.

It was eerie, honestly.

He never took off his shirt, either. Not even in bed. You’d felt that the skin on his ribs and chest wasn’t entirely smooth, and once in bed he’d rolled over in his sleep and you’d glimpsed some shiny pink skin at his waist. You knew it had been bad, you knew there’d been fire, but those scars looked… well, they didn't look like burn scars. They almost looked like... well, it was silly what you'd thought. Besides, it had been dark and what the fuck did you know, anyway?

Glimpsing them hadn’t made you any less curious about him, but it did make you stop trying to get him to take his shirt off in bed.

You didn’t know how to tell him that he was safe with you, that he was the best boyfriend you’d ever had. Kind, considerate, thoughtful; that you thought it was quick, sure, but maybe you were falling in love with him.

He’d introduced you to his only family, his uncle Wayne, who lived in Wyoming now, but came to visit him a lot, and the guys from his band - Gareth, Jeff and Dave - Corroded Coffin.

He shared a place with them in Speedway, you'd stayed there a few times. You loved the guys, really you did, but it was kind of a dump, so you spent a lot of time together at your studio on Canal Walk.

He wasn’t perfect - he could be impulsive, your dad worried about his “fiscal stability”, and for someone with so many secrets, he sure was nosey.

Which was why he was currently standing in your bedroom holding your goddamned vibrator with a look on his face like he’d just won the sexual lottery.

In his defense - not that he deserved any - you are the one who left the draw open, which was practically an invitation to pry as far as Mister Sticky Beak here was concerned. But still, a girl could keep some secrets, couldn’t she?

You leap off the bed and make a grab for it - or try to - before he can push the little black button on the base of the thing.

Eddie, being Eddie, holds it above his head, just out of your reach and says, “Now now, let's not be hasty,” as you try vainly to grab it.

“Eddie,” you whine and consider elbowing him in the ribs - but the other thing that glimpse of his scars has given you is a healthy respect for his body. You’d rather die than hurt him. You’ll have to resort to pouting and pleading instead. “Give it back. That’s private.”

You give him a pointed look and hope he’ll pick up what you’re putting down. Naturally he doesn’t.

“Is it though?” He leers at you, trying not to laugh right in your face. “I mean, I am sort of in charge of delivering the orgasms around here now, aren’t I?”

You bark a laugh, despite yourself. “Oh, who are you, again? Cruise director of the love boat? My orgasms are my business, mister!”

“That’s not what you were saying last night,” he says slyly, before putting on the worst - also the most annoyingly accurate - impersonation of you in the throes of passion, pitching his voice just below a falsetto squeak. “Oh Eddie! Oh Eddie, you’re gonna make me… I’m gonna… Oh, oh, oh!”

Scars be damned, you poke him right in the armpit, and he drops the vibe with an “oof”. You grab it before it can hit the ground, and make to run away with it, but he grabs you - playfully - around the waist and mock-wrestles you onto your bed. You land on top of him, both of you breathless and laughing by now, the vibe clutched tightly in your fist, up by his head.

His hands slip down you back, over your hips and he grabs two good handfuls of your ass. In the six months since you started fooling round he has never missed an opportunity to show you how much he loves touching you, kneading your flesh, tracing all your curves. He likes it almost as much as he seems to like being touched by you. It’s one of the things you adore the most about him - he has a healthy respect and fulsome admiration for your big, bouncy body.

“OK,” he says. “Let’s settle this like gentlemen. Let’s play a game…”

You squint at him, not trusting him one inch - you trust him completely, but you also do. Not. Not one inch.

“Like gentlemen, old sport! What what,” you reply, in a mock English accent.

“Let’s play Quid, Pro, Quo.”

Now, you’ve never played a game called Quid, Pro, Quo before, but he just took you to see Silence of the Lambs last week - you don’t care what anyone says about psychological thriller, that was a dang horror film in disguise - so you think you have a pretty good idea what it means.

“Ew, Eddie, I am not role playing sexy serial killers with you,” you say, and put up a bit of a struggle to get off him.

That really makes him laugh, but instead of letting you get away, he wraps his arms around you and gives you a squeeze.

“Oh Jesus Christ, no. That does nothing for me, either,” he says with a theatrical shudder, that only serves to rub you forcefully all over his body, your soft squishy boobs against the hard, warm planes of his chest. It makes something delicious tingle deep in your core. How’s that for quid pro what-the-fuck-ever, you get plenty of pleasure and enjoyment out of his body, too.

“No, in my version of the game, we take turns offering each other something we think the other might want, and if they do, they have to…”

He lifts a hand off your derriere and waves it around suggestively.

“What like, I offer you a BJ, and if you want one - “

“If!” Eddie snorts.

“ - you have to offer me ‘something of equal or greater value’?”

“Yeah,” he says with a grin. “Something like that. And then you can counter it with something of greater value again.”

“Like a sexy version of ‘chicken’?”

“Well, I was trying to make it classy, but we can go with ‘Sexy Chicken’ if that works. My idea, so I start…”

“Nuh huh, Big Fella,” you say, tweaking his chin with the hand not currently holding a goddamned vibe. “Ladies first… OK, what will you give me to get the hell off you.”

“Oh no,” Eddie replies, nose scrunched up. “I wouldn’t even give you a dime for that. You’ll have to stay exactly where you are.” He grabs your ass again, and kind of settles in with a sigh.

“Ungh, OK,” you say, rolling your eyes. “What if I… take off my bra.”

“Without getting off me?”

“Without getting off you, you perv.”

He laughs and then bites his lip considering. “OK, I will give you a foot rub. Both feet. On… Thursday, straight after your shift at the coffee shop.”

You gasp. You work nights at the campus beanery and your feet are routinely absolutely battered by the end of the night.

Once, early in your courting, Eddie had been waiting for you at your place when you came home from one of those shifts. He’d waited for you to kick off your shoes, and slump in your favorite chair, before kneeling down next to you, and starting to knead your instep, heels, calves and the pads of your toes. Without being asked.

No offence to the many wonderful orgasms you’d shared with each other since you met, but that massage had been better than sex.

Now that he was working the door at the club more regularly, Eddie wasn’t around when you finish work much anymore, so this offer was kind of a big deal.

You start reaching behind yourself to unclasp your bra without saying another word - only to then realize you are still holding the Goddamned vibrator. You chuck it up the bed by the pillows, and he grins down at you cheekily.

“I’m on a goddamned promise, Munson,” you say, from somewhere inside your tee shirt.

“Yeah, yeah, you know I’m good for it.”

His eyes slip over your shoulders and arms as you wriggle and twist, pulling your straps off under your tee shirt and pulling the bra out the sleeve. Through two layers of denim you feel his cock twitch when your unfettered boobs press against his torso. He bites his tongue and sweeps his hands up and down your arms. His gaze is just as warm and soft.

“Ta dah!” you say, flinging the bra away. You’re immediately jostled a bit by his laughter. “My turn again?”

“Your turn,” Eddie agrees.

You take your time thinking, trying to remember some throw away snippet of kinkiness he’d hinted at, or a time when he’d wanted to try something, but you hadn’t. Finally, you mind settles on a movie you’d watched together one rainy afternoon that had ended in a mind blowing fuck on the floor of your en suite bathroom.

“I will let you do that - you know - that thing, from 9 1/2 Weeks.”

Eddie goes very still. “OK, I need to be clear here, are you talking about the striptease?”

“Nope… the other thing.”

“With the - the ice and the -”

“And the blindfold.”

“Holy fuck,” Eddie said, eyes like saucers.

You cross your hands on top of his chest and rest your chin on the back of them. “I play to win, Munson,” you say, all cocky.

He laughs at you. “Oh my God, what have I got that would match that?”

“What indeed?”

He looks at you thoughtfully, reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear tenderly, and then in the smallest voice you’ve ever heard him use, he says, “The next time we fuck - I’ll take off my shirt. I’ll take it off. For you.”

It’s so not what you were expecting, so not where you thought this teasing, titillating game was going, that for a second you’re too shocked to say anything. Your voice just deserts you, until finally…

“Baby, you don’t have to do that.”

“No, I know,” he says with a sigh, his eyes slipping away from yours, to focus on a tendril of your hair he’s playing with. “But I also know it’s weird - ”

You do push away from him then, because you’ve suddenly got this horrible weight in the pit of your stomach. Did you give him that idea? Had you made him feel pressured?

“It’s not weird,” you say. He sits up too, as if he’s going to argue the point. So you stop him, with a hand to his chest.

“It’s not weird,” you say, firmly. “It’s private. It’s none of my business, it’s - you don’t have to tell me or show anything you don’t want to.”

He covers your hand on his chest with one of his own.

“But what - what if I want it to be your business,” he says. “God, that sounded way better in my head. I mean - “

You turn your hand, take hold of his and squeeze, nodding for him to go on.

“I don’t want us to have secrets anymore. I feel like I’m keeping something from you every time we fuck, and I don’t want to any more.”

“Then I’m happy for you to tell me anything you want to tell me. But Eddie, you have to know -”

His eyes are so big and limpid in the dim light of your room and you just - you don’t want any secrets any more either.

“You must know I l-love you,” you say finally, tripping over the biggest four letter word in the language.

He smiles, warmly, but you can’t help noticing there’s sadness there too as he scoots up the bed.

“Sweetheart,” he says, reaching behind his head to pull the back of his shirt over his shoulders and off. “You really do play to win.”

The tee shirt sails off the side of the bed and then there’s just him, his arms out wide, head lowered so you can’t really see his face, just his mottled torso and the top of his dear, beloved head.

You knew it was going to be bad, but it’s actually even worse than that. He’s not looking at you, so you have time to school your face into a placid, relaxed gaze, to not to show what you’re really feeling, because you know the shock and horror would hurt him, even if he pretended it didn’t.

Now you understand exactly why he’d never shown you before; why it took him half a year to trust you with this. You’re honest enough with yourself to admit if you’d seen the ruin of his chest in the first few blushy weeks of your romance, you might have run for the hills.

Low, on his right side, there are gouges - not burns - angry-looking welts of pinkish, reddish skin that bulge and buckle like an infection that’s healed badly. Dotted around this scar are little rosy contusions, like blood has burst under the surface and congealed there. Deep scores - healed, but puckered - rake across his hip. They look like they could pop open again at the slightest provocation.

You can’t keep back the gasp that comes when you take in the extent of the damage to his right side, though. There’s almost nothing there but scar; no nipple, or curve of skin over fat, muscle and bone. Instead it’s just a horribly twisted rent in the flesh where those parts of his anatomy should be.

Without thinking, you reach out - to what? Sooth? Map? Verify? You don’t know - only to pull back before you can touch him. He catches your hand, pulling it towards his ruined pec, flattening your fingers, gently, like he’s trying not to spook you, and pressing them to the skin.

“It’s OK,“ he says. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s healed. It’s actually…I was going to try and say it’s not as bad as it looks. But, ah, it is - it was - exactly as fuckin’ bad as it looks.”

“Oh Eddie,” you whisper, because there’s really nothing else you can say. The skin under your fingertips is warm and hard, feels rubbery and artificial. You feel what’s left of his muscles flex a little under it.

He lets go of your hand and takes hold of your shoulders.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he says, urgently, whispering your name rather than one of his many pet names for you, squeezing your shoulders for emphasis. “Everything they say about Hawkins, the - the fire, the chemical spills. It’s all bullshit. I’ll tell you all of it, one day, if you want. But, it’s a long story. Can we - another time?”

You nod as if you understand, but you don’t. You’re not sure you ever will, or even want to.

“Do they - can you feel me?” You ask, sliding your hands so gently over the scars, touching. mapping each one.

“Yeah, I can feel you,” he says. “I always feel you.”

With your hand still on his chest, you kneel up, straddling his thighs, press yourself closer to him, leaning in to kiss to his mouth, slowly and thoroughly, so he knows - so he can be certain - this knowledge changes nothing except to make things more real, more sure between you.

“I'm so sorry this happened to you. And I am so glad you survived.” You hear your voice catch on that last bit, feel the tears choking up at the back of your throat.

He makes a soothing sound and wraps his arms around you.

“I was mad about it, for a long time,” he says, his voice muffled where his face is pressed into your neck. “But - this is going to sound fucking insane - everything that happened brought me here.”

He leans back and looks up into your eyes. You cup his dear face in your hands.

“I don’t think I’d change a fucking thing - not even losing my goddamned nipple - if it meant I didn’t get to have you.” His voice is gentle, soothing, and so full of love he’ll never need to say the words if he just keeps talking to you like that.

You kiss him then, because you’re not sure what will happen if you try to speak. You don’t want to cry all over him. He’d only end up taking care of your messy feelings, when you’re pretty sure he’s got big enough feelings of his own to deal with.

You lean back and smoothing your hands over his bare shoulders and back to his neck, you say, “so, I guess that makes it my turn again, huh?”

He barks one of his big braying guffaws, wraps his arms around you and squeezes.

“Oh, we’re still playing? OK, OK, sure, babycakes. Whaddaya got?“

Out of the corner of your eye you catch a glimpse of that goddamn vibe sitting by your pillow. The idea pops into your head before you’ve really thought about the logistics, but once it’s there, you almost can’t get it out. Could you? Should you? Really?

You pull yourself off his lap and crawl up the bed, collapsing onto your back, the pillows under your head. Eddie twists to watch, and his eyes go soft when you pick up the vibe and turn it over in your hands.

“What if I… ride the lighting, right here, right now, while you watch?”

You both stare at each other for a second, until Eddie cracks, snickering like a naughty school boy.

“Ride the what now?”

“Ride the - the lightning, baby,” you say, giggling and waving the vibe. “That’s what they call it right? ‘Cause it’s electrical? “

“Oh my God, seriously? What the hell have you been reading?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?

“I’m pretty damned sure I would,” Eddie says, bemused. He crawls up the bed after you to lie on his side looking down at the little pink vibe in your hands.

He reaches out, and thumbs the little black button on the bottom. The little thing starts up with a buzz that makes the breath catch in both your chests. Eddie hmms, and runs the tips of his finger over the soft, curved edge. You know he’s picturing it, picturing you spread out for him, pleasuring yourself while he watches.

“OK,” he says, lifting the vibe out of your hands, and gently rolling it over the curve of your breast. It feels so good, even through your tee shirt, you can’t help squirming a little at the sweet, tingling hum of it. “I see your offer of a wanton display of feminine lust, and I raise you… me fucking you with this - where does it - oh, I see where that goes - me fucking you with this, while we both watch.”

“Mmmmhmmm.”

Without saying a word, you start pushing your sweatpants down your legs and trying to wriggle out of your tee shirt at the same time, which ends up getting you all tangled, so Eddie has to put the vibe down and help you get the shirt off.

“Leave your panties on,” he says, breathless as he lies on his back to thumb open the button on his own jeans and start kicking them off.

“I think we messed up the game,” you say, as you scoot back on the bed, and watch Eddie pulling off his boxers and socks. “I think I got too many turns.”

“Hmmm?” Eddie hums, thoroughly distracted by your breasts and thighs, and his eyes are fixed on the damp patch you can feel slowly spreading across the crotch of your white panties. He’s not thinking about the game or his scars, or Hawkins. Just you. The joy floods through you like sweet honey in your veins, warm and delicious. You get to have him, have this. Fuck, yes. Life, God, the Universe - whatever - may suck ass sometimes, but sometimes, it’s also this good.

He guides you to lie back as he slides up next to you. His cock, half hard and leaking, is pressed against your hip as he leans over you to kiss your mouth. Then there’s a click, and a hum as the vibe starts again. Still kissing you he starts to roll it, so gently from your collarbone, over the swell of your breast, to your nipple.

“Eddie,” you hiss, arching your back. He pulls away from you, to turn his head and look down the length of your torso to the stiff, pink peak of your tit.

He hums again, almost to himself, like he’s considering where to go next. When it seems like he’s decided, he drags the vibe slowly across your sternum, to your other nipple, and rolls the buzzing silicone over your tender flesh. He looks down at your chest.

“God, baby, look at these pretty little titties,” he says, biting his plush lower lip.

You look down at yourself, but the sight of him holding the buzzing tip of the vibe to your quivering nipple is too much. You mewl, and grip the sheets beneath you in your fists, pushing yourself into the warmth the vibe is creating.

“Do you - oh, God - do you like them, Eddie?”

He leans down to suck the stiff peak of your other nipple into his soft, wet mouth and lets it go with an obscene pop.

“Oh Princess, you know I do.”

You’re just holding on as the buzzing against your tender flesh starts to verge on pain. But it’s the kind of pain that shoots right through your core to your aching cunt, makes it flutter and clench.

“Fuck, Eddie,” you whine, arching your back and rubbing your thighs together, before letting your legs fall open and tilting up your hips.

“Hmmmm, so sensitive,” he says, his voice deep and rough. He tilts his face again to look down your body to your sex and his hair brushes across your cheek like a butterfly’s kiss. “Oh ho ho, what do we have here?“

“Please, baby," you whine, canting your hips again. “Please.”

“Needy girl,” he sing-songs, and starts dragging the vibe across your sternum and down, over your belly to the edge of your white cotton panties. “Oh no, you’ve made a bit of a mess here, Princess.”

You know that by “mess” he means the damp patch. You’ve been wet since he started this game, and now you’re practically flooding. Any other time you’d be embarrassed about that, and the noises you're making as he rolls the vibe across your pubic bone and your mons, but you just can’t summon an ounce of shame right now. All you want is that vibe where it belongs, buried in your pussy, or on your clit. You fucking want it.

“Please, Eddie, don’t tease me,” you say, and your voice sounds so shaky, you’re shivering so hard your teeth are almost chattering.

He slips the vibe over the thin cotton, to the damp patch. He rolls the vibe around pressing in. It almost makes you jerk, like he’s touched a live wire to your core.

“Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” you start chanting, pressing your hips up into that hot buzz. “Fuck, yes. Right there, oh, oh Eddie.”

Your head is thrown back, eyes clamped shut as you chase that feeling, fisting the sheets under you. You can feel it building so you chase it. If he keeps this up you’ll come just like this.

“Hold on there, sweetheart,'' he says, not removing the vibe, but easing some of the pressure. “We’ll get you there, but not too soon, OK?”

You can’t help the whine that follows. It sounds so needy and pathetic. Again, you’d be embarrassed, but it’s all you’re capable of right now. It makes Eddie chuckle, and worse, lift the vibe away from you altogether.

“Edd-ie,” you pout. But he just taps your hip and starts to slowly peel your panties down. You lift your ass long enough for him to get them out from under your butt, and then he’s drawing them down your thighs, and calves, over your feet and off. And then, like the wild goddamned animal he is, he smooshes them against his nose and mouth and breathes deep.

“Fu-uck, baby, you smell so good.”

You respond to his teasing by spreading your legs wide and slipping your fingers between your wet folds. “Yeah? How does it look, Daddy?” You ask him, as his eyes fix on your cunt.

He knows what a fucking buzz you get from him looking at your sex. You don’t know why, or what it means, but any time he looks at your pussy, you feel yourself get exponentially hotter, infinitely wetter. Part of you thinks you could just come from him watching you spreading while he tells you how good your little kitty looks, how much he wants it. Which is kind of what’s happening right now, God have mercy.

He throws your panties over his shoulder, and leans down to nose your hand out of the way and suck your little rose bud into his mouth. It’s kind of an awkward angle, but that just makes it feel even better, unexpected and strange.

“Taste fucking good, too,” he says, pulling off your clit, breathless and a little dazed. His cock, hard and red, is jutting up from his lap, the tip wet with pre-come. You want to suck it, but before you can ask for it, he rolls the vibe over your mons, and presses it hard, against the left side of your clit.

That really does make you jackknife up off the bed. You can feel the buzz everywhere, in everything, all at once. It’s humming in your cunt, your ass, even your nipples, it reverberates through your teeth and out the top of your head, where every single follicle is standing on end. There are thousand tiny bubble bursting under your skin, and you never want it to end.

“Fuck yeah, baby,” you hear Eddie say, as if from a distance. “Fuck yeah, fucking ride it.”

You realize there’s someone in the room wailing… it takes you a second to understand that that someone is you. You’ve got one hand fisted in the sheets, and the other is gripping Eddie’s knee. Your toes are curled into the blankets, and your eyes are clenched shut as the orgasm arcs through you like he’s just flicked the on switch and lit you up.

It seems to go on forever, every muscle in your body going into spasm for long, hot seconds of pleasure, until it slowly starts to ebb away.

You slap feebly at Eddie’s hand when it’s too much, when the intense pleasure has melded into a keen pain. He gently lifts the vibe away from you, thumbs the button and leans over to put it on your bedside table.

For a couple of minutes, you can’t open your eyes or move a muscle. It’s like all your bones have turned to jelly. You lie there, spread eagle, panting, your hand still gripping his thigh.

“Fucking hell, Eddie,” you whisper, finally. “Fucking hell.”

“Yeah?”

You peel open one eyelid to look at him, leaning by your side. “Yeah,“ you breathe, only just able to nod your head.

You attempt to sit up and turn to him. It’s a pretty pathetic attempt, all things considered and you end up sort of limply rolling towards him, the vision of that big, red, weeping cock of his is still fresh in your mind. “What about…”

He’s got one arm across his lap, covering his groin.

“Yeah, about that…”

“Oh my God, did you just bust a nut from watching me come?”

“You make sound so romantic,” he says wryly, reaching over the edge of the bed and snagging his Metallica shirt to cover his slowly deflating junk with.

“Eddie,” you say, reaching for him. “Baby, that is the hottest fucking thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Sure, sure,” he says, as he wipes up his lap and throws the tee shirt into the far corner of the room. But he lets you pull him on top of you, your loose, sweaty bodies sliding together a perfect fit.

“You’re just too… God,” he says, snuffling into the crook of your neck and wrapping his arms and legs around you and under you in a sticky, sexy bear hug. “Too fucking sexy. I had to bust.”

You both laugh, giddily.

Eventually he rolls off you, and leans up on his elbow, his tousled head resting on his palm as he looks down at you. He’s so lovely, those chocolate eyes, and his plush, beautiful mouth, even the road map of pain on his chest that leads all the way back into his past, all the way to you two here, in this bed… even that has a kind of raw beauty. He’s a survivor, your man.

“Eddie,” you say, reaching up to twine a lock of his hair around the finger. “I think I was wrong.”

He grunts a little as he leans over you to grab a pack of smokes from the bedside table. He pops two out and lights them both at the same time, like some Beatnik from the 60s, one for him and one for you.

He takes a lit smoke from between his lips and holds it out for you. You take it, wait for him to take his own out of his mouth and blow a plume of smoke over your heads, before you lean in and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Leaning back again, you take a drag, blow a plume of smoke of your own, and smile.

“Yeah,” you say, stretching languidly. “I think you are in charge of dispensing the orgasms ‘round here now.”

______

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