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Behind the gym, a smidge left of the trash containers that havent been emptied in months, just adjacent to Hawkins High’s second and least desirable parking lot, there is a staircase hollowed out in the ground, tiled and painted black, leading to a door. It stays unused, supposedly some mandated fire escape that the developers of the building had to add to the boiler room under the gym. The door doesn't open, not from the outside at least, and the painters must've swiped right over the locks and latches, the paint chipped, cracked and covered in sharpie penises and otherworldly aliens drawn about. It’s hard to imagine anyone escaping from any fire through it, decaying and immobile.
On the cement floor of that stairwell, should someone be interested in investigating, they will find a small, round, ceramic bowl, painted to look like a little smiling calico cat’s face. No one knows who put it there or what year it arrived, but it’s been steadily collecting, now overflowing, with cigarette butts since you started at this school. It’s become part of the school’s structure at this point, and while you spent your time standing, sitting, eating, reading on those stairs all throughout the years, you’ve often found yourself wondering how many things that cat’s seen. You named him Howard in your head a long time ago, and he always seems to bring the same sunny disposition to your aid no matter how shitty you did on that one test.
Turning the corner of the gym building, running your fingertips across those oh so familiar red dusty bricks, you make a small shoulder shrugging motion, bringing your rucksack back up in a steady grip again. You can’t believe that asshole Jason forgot you were tutoring him this afternoon - Ms. McNamara had specifically given you the key to her homeroom so neither of you had to travel far to meetup, and he’d just gone and crapped all over your agreement, not even a ‘ hey, don’t waste your breath, I actually really want to flunk English again, I just love re-learning Austin day in day out, hurr durr I like basketball’.
When you’re done laughing at the Jason in your brain, the rest of your attention goes back to your surroundings, you’ve stopped walking, your hand falls from the red brick wall, and you maneuver across the trash containers, keeping your distance, we really need better custodial work at this school, you think, until you remember it’s Hawkins and the best you can hope for is for people to stop fucking in the bathrooms.
Or at the very least bring wet wipes, is the last thing you think before you see it - the lonely line of gray, white smoke slowly rising from the black tiled cement cube that has been your secret-not-so-secret sanctuary all throughout this term. Fuck.
That’s fine. That doesn’t bother you. You can smoke anywhere here - it’s way past closing time, surely every teacher has gone by now, you could stand right in front of the door, hell you could probably unlock the door, and go in, and smoke up as much as you want. There’s literally nothing special about those stairs or the history they hold - generations of students seek a break from reality: look Howard in the eyes and stub out their cig, maybe late for class. You can just go. Smoke anywhere else.
You take one step back, the heel of your shoe scratching against the rocky cement. You turn around, not precisely keen on sticking around to find out which psycho serial killer must be waiting for random unassuming students to pass by.
“ Hey, it’s you .” says the seemingly delighted voice of one Eddie Munson. Oh , you think. The slasher type horror movie flashbacks running loop in your brain settle for a moment as you turn back to face the stairs. Now, you see just the head of Eddie, who had stepped up just two more steps of the way up the stairs. You turn your head slightly to the side, and instinctually take a step towards him. Your voice explains your confusion better than your words can.
“It’s me?”
One more step up the stairs towards you, Eddie rises and his shoulders appear. He’s wearing his denim vest and leather jacket, but you seem to recall there being less pins on it just yesterday in class. You hear them jangle when his shoulders shake in laughter, a small snortlike sound, and then he’s grinning at you. “Well, yeah, I think it’s you I’m looking at, aren’t I?”
“No, I mean,” You start. “Wh-,”
You don’t get that far. “I mean, unless you’re some sort of mimic , who’s actually just taken the real you as captive somewhere in a cavern, then that’d be really messed up and I’d have to step in about that, y’know.”
You stand dumbfounded. He lifts his hand to his mouth, taking a small drag of his cigarette, half smoked and clearly the culprit of the lone line of smoke you had seen previously. You try not to look at his mouth wrap around the end, try not to see his throat flex as he drags in a sharp breath through the filter. Now that he’s eye-level with the parking lot again, you watch him look across the lot, clearly searching for someone. He looks back up at you, and you feel the need to step closer, looking back. Your voices speak in perfect unison, neither of you stopping your sentences.
“I can, like, go -”
“Why are you here?”
A beat of silence. Your school has never felt so quiet, so vacant before. It’s usually just you, and your thoughts usually fill the silence, at least in your head. But now… now it’s you and him . Eddie steps down a level, and sweeps his arm dramatically across the stairs, even though it leaves your line of sight pretty quickly, proving the physical statement useless anyway. “ Please ,” he starts, bordering on sarcasm. You half expect him to claim the space, tell you to be his guest. “There’s plenty of room.”
You go down the much too familiar steps quickly, going down one further than the one Eddie’s leather boots are currently taking up half way. He looks at you again, and you’re not sure what he’s waiting for. You have seen this expression a million times in class, however. The way his nose scrunches on occasion, together with those knotted eyebrows of his. The way he’ll run his big, broad hands over his forearms as he thinks. The way his tongue, ever so rarely , will dart out and wet his bottom lip just so.
“It’s not you, is it?” His voice snaps you out of your memory fog. You don’t even think of the question before you shake your head because, no, you’d definitely remember if you had some sort of agreement with Eddie Munson .
“Good. Good.” He repeats, leaning back against the cement wall. You want to ask if he’s worried about scratching up his back patch, the fabric Dio on his back could fade if he kept rubbing up against that wall. But you don’t, because you’d much rather watch him do so. “I didn’t think so.”
“Are you waiting for someone?” You ask, fishing out your packet of cigarettes out of your jacket's inner pocket. You figured that this exchange would be slightly less weirder if you did what you came here to do, but you knew there was not much of a chance that you would experience the same calm feeling you’re usually left with after coming here. That’s not the nature of Eddie Munson. He’s the fireball, the meteor, the gunshot sounding amongst the bells and pipes. He disrupts, even in situations where he’s not not wanted.
“What are you doing here an hour past the bell?” He answers your question with his own, turning to you. You take a step up the stairs, your shoes now pointed towards his, wondering how much taller he would be if you were face to facer. You swear it’s just his ridiculous boots. The cigarette you’d been thinking of while waiting twenty minutes for Jason to show up tastes just as sweet as you’d imagined when the dry filter hits your lips. You nudge, and nod towards Eddie, accompanied by a muffled sound.
He gets the message, taking out his lighter from his back pocket. You try not to watch, but he leans in and takes half a step closer, and ignoring it is worthless, you can smell the leather on him. The cheap, generic brand shampoo mixed with that distinctly Eddie scent: dark, dirty and addictive.
He looks good in fiery shadows that cast on his face after he lights up: orange and yellow tones illuminate his eyes and the small, paperlight shadows cast from his eyelashes hit his cheeks just right. You think back to every time you’ve seen his real smile, and the adorable small wrinkles that appear around his eyes when you do. The list is so short you can count it on one hand. You almost forget to inhale as the paper burns a ring into your cig. But you don’t forget, and as you blow out your first breath of sweet, sweet release, you answer, leaning back; “Never make tight plans with a jock .”
He smiles, positioning himself back against the wall, his cigarette is down to very last bit, and you kinda hope he’ll go and put it out properly, and offer it to Howard, building the mountain higher, but if he were to do so, he would have to leave your line of sight, and you’re sure Howard can deal with one less brick on his pyramid today. He throws it into a corner of a step. “I’m starting to learn that, actually.”
“Oh yeah?” You lift a brow and Eddie suddenly, rakes in a breath and does a gigantic borderline enormous sigh.
“ Yes ,” he starts, overly pained and downright pitiful. His arms swing out wildly as he speaks. “I was supposed to meet with a certain, psychedelic experience wanting mystery man,” he raises an arm up to the sky.
“Don’t worry, Eds, he’s totally cool, he just can’t come pickup at your place, no, not his either, no, you have to wait behind the gym in precisely this location at precisely this time!” His voice strains as he runs out of breath, his arms dropping slowly to his sides again.
Anybody with eyes could see Eddie dealt more than just fantasy roleplay stories, because despite the clear animosity between him and, well, basically anyone popular at school, they still knew when to pause. There was a certain restraint shown, when they would dish out their unrighteous abuse; they still invited him to every party, and he never arrived empty handed.
Ah. So the spot that was yours but not yours had apparently become a new drug dealing spot. That makes sense, weirdly. You squash any small hope you had, that he had figured out that this was where he could find you here, and that he was waiting to see if his predictions were true… Of course, it was nothing more than a silly idealization of some.. coinciding misunderstandings. The way he was currently looking inquisitively at you, waiting on your reaction, meant nothing. Of course.
“Mmm.” You puff out a smoky breath, clearly having taken a drag at the wrong time. “I guess we both got stood up. Why is this mystery guy so weird about meeting you? Does he know he’s in a drug deal?”
“Fuck if I know.” Eddie paws at his jacket pocket, seemingly looking for something, finding it, and then changes his mind and retracts, empty handed, and looks at you, which would be fine if you weren’t busy looking at his hand.
A beat passes and nobody says anything. You notice the wind howling in the far distance away from you both. It’s easy to forget, in this black little cube digout - that you’re still right here, behind your school, outside, surrounded by nothing but this boy. You don’t get it. He’s not smoking, he’s not speaking, and this supposed drug deal clearly isn’t happening. You imagine his mystery jock and Jason are off right now about to launch a nuke to take you both out, that evangelical prick would sacrifice you just to off his nemesis . Seriously pathetic. You hope he regrets ditching you the next time he sees a written essay assignment with an impossible word count.
In the silence, you hear Eddie take a break, see him close his eyes, and roll his neck. You watch. You really, really, watch as the muscles in his neck flex and shift, and you wish his jackets weren't so all-encompassing. You want to pull them off him, demand he goes again.
You’re not so sure you have a crush on Eddie. Don’t you need to know someone to have a crush, really? You’re not friends, but you’re not not friends. You’ve never given him shit for his fashion sense, his music taste, his questionable hobbies and equally questionable business endeavors. And he’s never suggested you’re a dirty conformist who’s corrupting the children of America with political lies and agendas.
Whatever you were, you hoped that you were right in your assumption that there had never been animosity between the two of you. You’ve had no issues staring him down throughout the years, and really, it has been years. You don’t know how. He’s just always been.. something special. As you both aged, he had only become more appealing to you. You briefly recall the summer where his hair officially started hitting his shoulders and neck, that’s when you first found yourself thinking about how it’d feel to run your fingers up his throat, past his ear and down his neck again, raking your fingers through the hair there and pulling .
Thinking about what he’d sound like. If you did it. If after all these years, if you could just..
“How long have you been waiting?” you ask, eyes pointed to the wall as if zoned out and inattentive. You’re sure he thinks you’re not listening, just asking to make conversation. You’re deep in thought.
“For that prick? At least thirty minutes now.” He whines, crossing his arms theatrically. He’s got nothing to complain about. Your eyes find his, but your gaze is different and he can tell something’s shifted in your complexion, though you can’t explain it yourself. You cross your arms at him too, mirroring him.
He’s wearing the shiny, steel bat Ozzy belt buckle you thought about for nights on end when you were both just a few grades younger.
“No.”
“No?”
“I meant,” you start, looking down to the floor, littered with cigarette butts and dust. You look up and pray he doesn’t see your fingers shaking, your leg bouncing.
“How long have you been waiting to kiss me?”
The statement fills the air, sucks out the energy around you, it leaves the small space between the two of you vacant, lacking, you can’t breathe it in, can’t move it, you said it, holy fuck you said it, you can’t believe you said it. His silence is suffocating, and your legs feel like jelly as you pace your breath against the cold wall behind you.
You don’t meet his eye for longer than two, maybe three seconds if you’re being generous. You thought you were breathing, but it’s only when he takes a solid step towards you, you let out a shaky, resolute breath. As the forgotten cigarette in your hand burns on slowly, Eddie slowly lifts his arms and plants his forearms on either side of your head, encasing you entirely, one of his legs lifts to the step one tick up. You’re stuck, and you have no choice but to meet his eye again. You feel like every one of your nerves is on fire, pure shame and embarrassment pumping the blood through your veins, your heart’s out of a job and his eyes are so intense when you lift your chin to face your choice head on.
“When you ask me that,” he starts, speaking slowly, his voice oddly dark suddenly. Like he can’t believe what conversation he’s having right now. “Do you mean from the start of forever , or just today ?”
You push out a shakey breath, embedded with one simple word, “ fuck.”
Whether it was you or him who closed the distance, who’s hand shot up first to meet the other, who clashed against who’s teeth, who moaned in sweet relief when your mouths first met - you really can’t say. All you can do is feel, feel his scratchy denim jeans up against your legs, as he moves in, entirely covering you, as if he can’t get close enough. It almost hurts how strongly he’s pushing you into the wall, but you’re too busy to feel it, your tongue against his, him sucking your bottom lip harshly between teeth, letting it go with a bounce and immediately going back in for the attack, that’s the only focus point right now.
You think he’s the only thing holding you upright right now, your arms around his neck but mostly due to your jelly legs being held up by the sheer force of his hips against yours. Your hand finds refuge in his monstrous hair, your fantasy finally fulfilled as you run your fingers through it, finding purchase when you pull , maybe harder than intended, but good fucking lord, worth it.
“ Ah,” he sounds when he pulls away from your mouth, you’ve never heard a sweeter sound when he fucking whines , pressing into you. “oh, fuck. Christ.”
You didn’t want to stop while it was happening, but now that he’s pulled back you get to look at him: lips pink, currently in the process of swelling from blood flow, and your mind doesn’t have to wander very far to know where else his blood flow is going into high gear. In fact, you really, really don’t have to guess, you feel his cock pressing into the side of your lower belly and it’s really, really hot.
You breathe, chest expanding semi-rapidly. No one has to say anything, this can be it, you think to yourself. That was it, that’s enough. He doesn’t want more.
When his hand snakes down and around your waist, you couldn’t stop him from dragging you into him even if you wanted to. You make a surprised noise you’ve never heard from yourself before, pathetic, wanting, desperate, and you’re worried you might be too into this, he’ll realize how obsessive you are and run, but when he hears that sound from you, he catches it with his mouth, swallowing it down and keeping it safe. You whine against his mouth, your hands running down his chest, feeling the sharp corners of his pins poke at you, the zipper on his leather jacket tickling your palm as you settle your hand right above his crotch, lifting the shirt fabric you find there.
Is this too forward? He does not seem to be complaining, gasping softly as the cool air hits his midriff. You pull back, and you just can’t help yourself from looking down, please, I’m only human, have mercy, good Lord, you pray to nothing as you take in his happy trail, dark, curly hairs, leading down in a perfect, plush scarce line towards the hem of his jeans. You can barely think as you look up at him through your eyelashes.
“Promise I’m me. I really like you.” You start. He blinks, clearly dazed, maybe due to the fact that certain amounts of blood are lacking from his brain and have found refuge just below where your hand holds his shirt in a death grip.
“What?” He breathes it rather than speaks it, looking at you like you’re downright fucking edible.
“Th-the, uh, mimic thing you said,” you shake your head, “whatever, I just- I like,” you breathe, and it’s hard, because his fingers have started playing with the hem of your shirt, occasionally grazing the skin underneath, and the air around you is cold but you are on fire. “Basically, I like you, and I thought maybe-”
“ God, I like you too.” he says, delirious. Any onlooker would suspect that he was drunk. “I think about you all the time. I’ve been thinking about you, I swear you are like,” he stops, lifts his arms, and makes an explosion motion with his hands, expanding as if to mimic a boom, as if his brain exploded right out of his skull. “Like that. But a thousand times more. To me. Like, fuck , right?”
God, you want to. Are you seriously the type to meet a guy behind school?
You take a look at Eddie’s mouth again. Yes. Yes, you definitely are. The muscles twitching in your legs and above definitely think so. You nod feverently. “Yes, yeah. Kaboom. You’re- you’re also,” you mimic a slightly less dramatic explosion, with one hand to your temple. “Definitely also that for me. For a long time.”
Ascending the steps, you took a pause to let your eyes adjust to the bright sun reflecting over the concrete. It wasn’t until you were turning the corner towards the front of the gym, Eddie by your side, that you realize this should feel awkward. This should be a strange silence, a pause where you should feel strange or shameful, right?
And yet, listening to the leaves blowing around you in the vacant lot towards the front of your school, the chains on Eddie’s jeans jangling gently, you don’t feel awkward at all. Instead, there’s a calm, yet present undercurrent of energy running through you. If Eddie feels awkward, he doesn’t say it. It isn’t until you reach his van you realize you never actually spoke about what the plan was.
“ Uh , so,” he starts, placing a hand on the van and leaning on it. For a moment, you watch him struggle to find the words for whatever he’s trying to say. You wish you could help, but you’re just as lost, how does one simply say you’d give anything to tie someone down and have your way with their stupid nerd loser face?
“You want a ride?” is what he settles on. You nod, having half a mind to just reply god, yes, I do, but you silently go to open the back of his van instead, hoping he gets the message.
“Don’t really feel like going home yet, plus, you’ve still got a potential business prospect here right?” You joke, climbing in and landing semi-gracefully on the flat, probably thrifted mattress he has crammed into the van. It’s surprisingly cozy in here, the mattress doesn’t provide much cushion but it is covered in wooly, fuzzy blankets. There’s a string of lights strewn from one side to the other, and a few tin tie-dye patterned boxes sit at the edge of the mattress, beside a half empty bottle of water. You sit against the wall of the van and notice him, taking in the environment around you. Oops , you guess he noticed you staring, probably thinking you’re unimpressed.
“You bring a lot of people back here?” You smile, grabbing the corner of one of the blankets and working it between your fingers. He sits parallel to you, one leg up and resting his arm against it. You guess based on the wrinkle of his eyebrows you might be way off.
“Oh yeah, for sure.” He cranes his neck to the side, stretching it. You want to know how it tastes, feels as the tendons flex under your tongue. Your legs squeeze instinctually and he keeps speaking. “Don’t you know evil, Satan worshipping nerds are America’s number one export? I’m a hot commodity to these heathens.”
“Suppose that makes me lucky, then?” You take the chance to move closer, and his leg goes down, making space for you to climb onto his lap. You see the confidence previously in his eyes fade, and his hands float beside you, not sure where he’s allowed to place them yet. He nods, and he’s right, you are lucky .
“So, right, like,” His eyes scan over you, and his hands find their place on your lower back. You haven’t settled your entire weight on him yet, still keeping yourself upright with your thighs flexed. Eddie is working himself up into a fluster, and you can’t help but smile as his cheeks start going burning red. “Is this, like. Okay, so, do you, have you?”
You’re not sure what he’s asking, but you settle your weight onto him, and hope that answers his question for you. He takes in a sharp breath, and looks up at you. His eyes are gorgeous, big, round, brown and fully concentrated on you. Your hand goes up to brush some of his soft, beautiful but bothersome hair out of his eyes.
“Eddie,” your voice is soft and you watch as it relaxes him, his shoulders slumping down. “I think we’ve already confirmed that we’re both, uh,” you mimic the same explosion with your hand again, “about each other, right?”
He nods, and you lean in way close to his face, your noses touching, and your whisper reaches his mouth before it reaches his ears. “And I think I’d really like to go like, further , like, right now.”
When he nods this time, it’s aggressive enough for his bangs to go flying around his face, and you smile widely but briefly, as your mouth quickly busies itself, crashing against Eddie’s. You sigh into it, thankful he’s appreciative of the idea. His hands go tight against your waist, pulling you into him, hard. Your hands go to his hair, his neck, against his jaw, down his chest, everywhere until you can’t reach further. You want to take any and every piece of him you can just for yourself, keeping these little things - the dip of his collarbone, the scratchy feeling of his vest, the cold metal there, the way he whines when you drag your fingers through his hair, you want to keep them safe in a little pocket of your heart forever.
Whatever that fleeting thought of forever with Eddie implied, you did not worry. Before forever you have right now, and right now, Eddie’s lifting off of you, surely doesn’t notice how he’s pressing into you and it’s making you burn up, and pulls his shirt off. Your eyes take him in and you’re about to go on the attack when he distracts you, his hands landing on your hips again.
“Okay, okay, so. I haven’t actually, like,” He pauses, his fingers squeezing you a little. He must be nervous. “..like, had sex. Before.”
It takes every nerve ending in your body not to laugh at the way he so innocently looked up at you, because of course you cannot under any circumstance laugh right now, the poor guy would be traumatized. But you smile, and move close again.
“Dear lord, Eddie, I don’t care,” you breathe out hard. He doesn’t look convinced, and you run your hands up his chest, the rough scratchy hairs there tickle your palms and you hope it’s a comforting move from you. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind if you’d had a thousand people or just one back here, I just like you.”
You expected it to maybe settle his nerves, maybe comfort just a teensy bit, you expected him to maybe nod, say okay, and slowly start building up his confidence, perhaps. What you did not expect was for Eddie Munson to lift you up from him, and lean down, laying you down on the mattress and positioning himself between your spread legs in one smooth move. You practically squeak, totally caught off guard. Your neck is his next target, down your collarbone and up again, and you can’t do much to fend off the attack other than scratch your hand down his bare back.
Suddenly he’s everywhere on you, pressing his weight down against you entirely, and it’s too much and not enough, all at once. “I’ve thought about you, like, so much.” you reveal.
“Oh yeah?” his voice is scratchy against your neck, and his hands go to lift your shirt higher, revealing you bit by bit. You help him, taking a second to lift the shirt and toss it off of you.
“Yeah.” the air is knocked out of you as you land on the mattress again. A hand goes up, grabbing his bangs and pulling, you smile, “thought about this a lot.”
He leans down against you again, and you try to ignore the heavy weight that settles across your crotch, holy christ , he’s hard again. Because of you. In the back of his van. Your face feels burning hot, and it’s not exactly the only part of you burning for him. Your chest heaves. His chin digs into you as he rests his head on you, staring intently and batting his eyelashes.
“You’ve thought about lil’ old me, this ugly mug?” he smiles wide, and suddenly the full force of the sunshine fills the dimly lit van.
You shake your head incredulously. “You’re kidding, Eddie, of course I have, have you ever fucking seen you ?”
The confused expression on his face is the most infuriating thing you’ve ever seen and you want nothing more than to kiss it away, force him to understand what he does to you. But words might be the way to go here. You hope he gets what you mean. “Damn it, dude , I’ve like, thought thought about you, more times than I can count.”
He gets it. “ Oh .”
“Yeah.”
“Show me.” He lifts off of you, as if to grant you access to your own body again. It feels like all the air in the van’s been sucked out from above, leaving you to fend for yourself once again. A strike of lightning crosses your skin, burns every inch of you. Your mouth falls open, searching for the words, ask him if he’s serious, but you already know just from the way his eyes burn into yours, and then further down.
You swallow, and arch your back, settling into the mattress again before your shakey hand slides down your chest and under the tight fabric of your jeans. He does you the courtesy of unzipping and unbuttoning them for you, but nothing more. Your head turns to the side and you try to avoid his heavy gaze before you allow yourself, finally, some release. You feel his stare like a brick on your chest.
When you gasp for the first time, touching yourself, he takes a sharp breath too, leaning down and kissing your neck wetly again, dragging his teeth across your pulse point again. His voice is deeper, rougher than you’ve ever heard and you feel again just how hard he is above you. “Just like that? You think about me just like this?”
You nod, and your legs spread instinctually, matching the last time you came with Eddie’s name on your tongue, in your bed alone. This is a million times better, and the thought of Eddie in your bed coaxes a moan out of you without thought. The sound, as if creating a domino effect, is followed by Eddie grinding his crotch into you, and again, and again. Your fingers shake against yourself, and you’re wearing too many clothes.
“I would think about,” your fingers circle. “Your hair, your voice.” he stifles a small mmh, against your skin. “God, yes, I thought about,” his fingers grab at the hem of your jeans and tugs down hard, janking them down an inch further and the friction, the desperate aggression behind the move drives you crazy. “I thought about you fucking me.”
It’s not the most poetic thing you’ve ever said, but it’s enough for Eddie to peel himself off of you, the absence of him leaves you desperate and exposed, but it only takes him a second to drag your jeans off of you, your shoes slip off as well. Within a second you’re left palming at yourself before him, your hand stalls as your eyes met again. He stays on his knees above you, his hand snakes down and starts grabbing roughly at himself through his jeans. Holy fuck.
“Don’t stop,” he begs. “Please.”
You nod and your eyes stay at his movements, your hand mimicking his as you tease yourself, not too fast you force yourself, hoping to save your orgasm for, uh, more pressing matters.
“I thought about all those, um, rockstars you like, and how they uh,” you smile, can’t stop your small laughter escaping and he smiles back at you, breath heavy, hair falling in his face. He’s a goddamn vision. “How they all like to go down on women, and stuff. They sing about it, at least.”
“Yeah, they do, baby,” he moves down to you again, chuckling against you, and one of his hands find your chest and grabs at you roughly. Jesus Christ, yeah, he definitely hasn’t tried this before, not sure how much strength to use anywhere, but it’s weirdly hot, you can feel his desperation in every moment. He drags another hand up your thigh, and your hand leaves your underwear, making space for his.
“I want you so fucking badly,” he whines against your mouth, and you don’t know how else you can show him you want him too, so what you end up doing instead is pull your underwear down and off yourself, his eyes going wide before he moves to match you, unzipping his jeans and pulling them down.
“Fuck, okay, yeah, please,” your legs fall open to either side, your brain allocating all your energy to bring one shakey hand down to palm him through his briefs. He gasps at the very welcome friction, and you watch his eyes close in fucking bliss for a brief moment.
When said briefs go down as well, it strikes you to ask if he’s got any protection, but before the words go further in the production line in your brain, he’s leaning over and opening one of the tin boxes next to you. Oh, fuckin’ sweet salvation.
He moves back to you equipped with a condom in his hand, which he moves to rip open with his teeth. He smiles down at you. “Who said sex ed never helps anyone?”
“Thank god for government mandated free shit.” Your hands rest on your chest for a moment as he fumbles to roll the condom over his hard cock. It gives you a moment to take him in with your eyes. Drooling, you consider him, dark thatch of curly hair covering the base of him, curved and thick. You want.
He finds himself between your legs again, and takes a shaky breath, his forearms resting against you as he moves way closer, but not in any way that matters. The cold air leaves you feeling overly exposed for a moment, needing his warmth again. “Okay, so,” he starts, and your hands find his face. “This is uh, I’m not very, like, good… at this, I think, so,” he fumbles through his words.
“You’re good, Eddie, it’s okay,” you shake your head, hoping it reflects how much you don’t care if he’s ‘bad’. “It’s okay,” you kiss his nose, his lips, down his chin, under his jaw, and he breathes, slow and steady. “I just want you.”
He doesn’t need much more reassurance, or maybe hearing you say that was enough to get him too turned on to function, either way, he finds the momentum to drag the head of his cock down your cunt, grazing your clit and it’s unexpected and ridiculously hot , you gasp at the movement and once more when you feel him push into you, just a bit too fast and yet not fast enough. The delicious burn and the weight of him falling against you overwhelms you instantly. “ Hooooly , fuck, oh christ ,” he starts.
Your hands go over his neck and pull him close, panting out a small yes, and he doesn’t pause before finding a rhythm, small breaths escape you for every grinding thrust. His hand finds your waist, holding you in place tightly as he pistons into you, not that you’re going anywhere anyway, fuck.
Your legs go to wrap around his waist as the same time your hands find his hair, raking and pulling it hard. He groans against you, his face digging into your neck, feeling his hot breath against your skin. “Fuck, yeah, baby, again , please,” he whines and you do, of course you do, you’d do anything if he asks you in that delicious, persuasive voice again.
His thrusts press you hard into the mattress and when his hand moves down to run his fingers across your clit, you think you could cry. “Like, like this, sweetheart?” he asks, sounding unsure this time. Your hand meets his, and you put your fingers over his, guiding him.
“Fuck, just like that, yeah,” you nod, and his hair tickles your neck. He moves up and kiss you, he tastes downright dirty as he sucks on your fucking tongue. You moan into the kiss and break free again, panting, “so fucking good , Eddie, Eddie .”
He grinds into you, hard, and it’s too much, pushes too hard into you, mixed with the stimulation against your throbbing clit is too much, too, fucking, much and you feel every muscle in your legs flex hard, your core tightens in a fucking vice grip around his cock, and he sounds just as shocked as you are when he suddenly grinds to a halt inside you, moaning long and hard before thrusting a few more shallow times into you. You breathe, hard beneath him, trying to steady yourself, for just a moment.
“Fuck, holy fuck,” He drops onto you, knocking the wind out of you in a fell swoop. Your legs burn, you’re still fucking turned on and Eddie Munson’s cock is buried all the way inside you, your breath evading you as you chase it. He kisses your neck, pressing all his remaining passion into it. “Ah, shit, baby, fuck, m’sorry .” his voice fizzles, growing quieter and quieter against you.
“No, no,” you grab him by the hair to forcibly pull his head up, getting him to look you in the eyes. You lean in and bump noses. “God, Eddie, you’re so good, don’t be sorry.” You kiss him, a soft peck and lean back down. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect.”
His face is the picture of relaxation, the tension drained from him. He hasn’t pulled out of you yet, and you’re trying not to mention how fucking turned on you still are, but he feels you squeeze and twitch against him.
“Not perfect yet.” is all he says before he pulls away from you, on his knees as he pulls the condom off and ties a neat knot on it. He opts to throw it beside the two of you and you scrunch your nose disapprovingly.
“Gross.” you snort.
“Was it gross?” he leans back down, hovering over you. “When I was fucking you?”
That shuts you right the fuck up, looking at him, but then he takes a moment to pull his jeans back up, and drags a hand over his chest slowly. You guess this means your little rendezvous in Eddie’s van is done, and you lean up on your forearms searching for wherever your underwear ended up. You’re still painfully turned on, but you suppose you can’t ask for much more from a first timer-
You feel a large, firm hand push you down by the neck, and swallow tightly. Eddie moves back to you, nudging your legs apart again. “Are you serious?” he looks down at you, a downright evil smile on his lips, mischief in his eyes. “You think I wasn’t listening?”
You’re confused and he can tell. It’s not until he crawls downwards, his lips meeting your chest, your sternum, licking a line down your stomach and swirling around your naval that you realize he was listening to you earlier. Your fantasies.
A hand moves to grab at his hair and he looks up towards you, that same evil smile haunting you as you give a small tug on his hair. His hands meet your inner thighs, and you lift your legs a little higher, making space for him to hold you in place. You look down, and meet his hungry gaze. He has the gall to lick his lips. Jesus fuck.
“Now,” he starts. “Tell me, what you need, or, you know,” you half expect him to start apologizing again, and you’ve half a mind to shut him up before he does. But he doesn’t. He finishes his sentence in a way that rekindles the fire inside you. “Or just take it from me.”
You swallow the next sound that wants to escape your throat, and nod tightly. He takes, licking one wet, flat stripe across your cunt, and a shuddering breath leaves you. An arm gets strewn across your stomach, holding you in place as if he could predict that you were gonna start squirming beneath him.
It is clear he’s new to this, yes, but that just means he experiments more than you’d expect, using his tongue to find his way around. It takes you the next three moans and whines from you to realize he’s using your sounds , your movements , to figure out where and how exactly you want him. He moves his tongue quickly in a fluttering movement against your clit suddenly, and your back arches all the way off the mattress, a surprised, “holy fuck, Eddie ,” escaping you.
It only seems to spur him on, and once he realizes he can get that reaction out of you with that move, he’s unforgiving, doing it over and over with barely any pauses. You feel your inhibitions melting away, giving up the idea of trying to stop your moans. The arm around you tightens as you try to lift your hips off the mattress, desperate for more friction.
His fingers join his tongue, pumping in and out, circling you, he’s everywhere, he’s everything, and you feel it all. He moves down to lick all of you up, and your hand returns to his hair, yanking him upwards harshly. If you could control yourself you’d apologize, but you can’t, you just need, just one more, just one more.
You don’t notice Eddie grinding himself into the mattress, but he does, harder every time your hand tightly grips strands of his hair, and the sounds you make inspire more aggression of his tongue against you. Your sounds are pathetic, whiney, you beg for him, and you’re happy you can barely hear yourself, too lost in the sensation of his hard laboring effort.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Eddie,” you beg. He can’t answer you, but you feel him nod against you, until the arm he’s using to push you down suddenly leaves you, and you can’t help but grind against his face, fuck, you’re practically using him as a toy and he fucking loves it. Your hips find a rhythm and he eats it up, his fingers digging roughly into your thighs, pushing and pushing, and oh fuck, he’s just taking it and you can’t take anymore and, and -
You hear a scream and you don’t make the connection that it’s you, your ears are too filled with the delicious sound of Eddie groaning against you, the burning sensation of his fingers grabbing you, the flex of every muscle in your body contracting at once, and the heavy thud of your arched back hitting the mattress.
Holy shit.
Whatever Eddie’s saying as he pulls off you, lets your bruised thighs go, and lifts himself up, you have no clue and you don’t care, you’re too busy begging any God in the sky for breath , please. Your eyes open, and you see the glorious sight of a pussydrunk Eddie Munson above you, eyes on you, his hair like an abused, frizzy sexhaired halo around his gorgeous smile, shiny and wet.
Because of you. You shake a little.
“You okay?” He chuckles, and licks his lips. You stare, still breathing hard. “Yoohoo, darling? Honey , I’m home?” He tries, impersonating a husband from the sixties and doing a waving motion with his hand as if to suggest, anyone home?
You eventually nod, and he laughs right down at you, and turns to grab you your underwear, helping you put it back on while you’re trying to find out how to use them again. You sit up, and squeeze your eyes shut. “Wow.” is all you muster.
“You don’t have to exaggerate for my fragile ego, I’ll survive, you know,” Eddie says, adjusting his underwear and zipping up his jeans. You seemed to remember them not being that sticky just a moment ago. Sitting up against the wall again, you put your shirt back on, now giving way less shits about how your outfit looks. You can’t even imagine your hair after being rubbed against those blankets for so long. You swallow, the thought of you being grinded against the ratty mattress in Eddie Munson’s van would’ve turned you on all over again if you weren’t so out of it.
“I’m not.” You insist as Eddie gets stuck on his shirt, struggling to pull it over his head. You tug it down to his shoulders for him and watch as his gigantic hair springs back up from the compression of the shirt. He smiles a dopey smile at you. “That was genuinely really good, like, really.”
“I guess those rockstars know a little something about something, huh?” He chuckles at you, you must still look really ridiculous. You zip up your jeans and button the button, and he watches you. He keeps talking, and it’s painful. “ Those rockstars. The ones I like. The ones you think about. When you think of me . When you-”
“Yes, yes, I get it, Eddie!” You exclaim, smacking his arm as he laughs out loud at you. You feel your face heat up in embarrassment and the thought of him now knowing your secrets like that, outside of the heat of passion, suddenly hits you like a giant bullet train of shame and regret. But his smile lessens the blow. “Everyone gets it!”
“I didn’t,” he says, leaning against the wall. “I had no idea, about you thinking of me like that,” he sighs, relaxing, before spots the bottle of water and goes to grab it, taking a swig and handing it to you afterwards.
“Well, I guess I’ve been decent at hiding it then.” You shrug before taking a fat gulp of water yourself. You feel his eyes on you.
“But I guess we also stopped spending any real time together these last few years.” You watch his expression darken at that statement. It is true, but that doesn’t mean either of you are happy about it. You stretch your neck from side to side. You can feel a soreness forming in your upper back. Man, you’re starting to remember why people don’t primarily fuck in vans.
“It was never you,” he starts. And you know. The distance that grew between you wasn’t because of some big fight, some altercation. You didn’t betray him. He didn’t betray you. You grew apart, you started being in other circles. Two sides of one war. You know it. You’ve laid at night thinking about it. But there was always uncertainty. The idea that maybe he just stopped liking you, couldn’t stand you, was always a scary thought that would dig at you for hours at a time. Hearing him admit you were wrong in that thought feels borderline euphoric.
“No?”
“No. Never you.” He looks at you, his resolve unchanged. “I think life just got..”
“Yeah.”
The absolute shock of the sun assaulting your eyes when you stepped out of the back of Eddie’s van completely upstaged leaving the staircase, this time accompanied by the shaking, pathetic movement of your legs after Eddie delivered you a beginner’s luck earth shattering orgasm - you bambi-legged your way into his passenger seat in the front, and Eddie lands in the driver's seat with a thump, his hand finding your thigh. He unnecessarily turns back towards his rearview mirror on instinct, as he backs out of the parking space, there’s definitely no one around, but he checks anyway, and you watch his broad shoulders, now jacketless, and admire .
The drive to your place is calm, quiet and you breathe the fresh air that whips across the open window beside you. You feel a comforting warmth settle in you, the steady hand on your leg grounding you immensely as you think of what just occurred. Fucking Eddie Munson. Jesus, you just fucked Eddie Munson.
When the van halts to a stop outside your house, you beg no one’s noticing you getting dropped off by some stud rocker, you couldn’t handle that conversation right now. Not that you’re ashamed. You’d do this a thousand times again before ever feeling shame. Eddie looks at you, and grabs your hand. You feel the energy shift. You feel his nerves through the touch, and wrinkle your brow at him, but you know what’s wrong.
“I’m not gonna just leave and forget this, if that’s what you’re thinking.” You squeeze his hand. “I wasn’t lying, dude, I like you.”
He nods, but not for you, rather to convince himself. “ Yeah . Yeah, I know.”
But you suspect he doesn’t, in fact, know. So you surge in and kiss him hard. He reciprocates passionately, and you suspect he’s trying to push all his nervous energy out into the world through a kiss. You take it willingly, your hand going to caress his check gently. You’d take all of it, all the fear of rejection, all his alienation, the fear, the pain, you’d take it all for him. You pull back from the kiss with a smile and bump foreheads. “I’ll call you, okay?”
When you step out, he waits until you’re all the way behind your front door before he drives away with a smile on his face.