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Watching the Hellfire Club is a whole new different experience for Chrissy. Dustin is very enthusiastic about helping her to understand what it is, exactly, that they do here and seems very excited in general at the idea of her playing with them.
Naturally, he tells her, she needs to have a character. It won't be her, obviously, Dustin assures Chrissy quickly, but it could be like her. It can, in fact, be anything she wants. Her character doesn't even have to be a girl, if she doesn't want to play one.
From her understanding of it, Dungeons and Dragons is half game played with dice and half live theater - except that the only one who has the script is Eddie.
Who is Eddie playing?
He's the Dungeon Master, Dustin explained. So he isn't playing so much as running things in the game, moving the world around us. It's mainly his job to keep things interesting.
That, as Chrissy soon realizes, is an accurate statement but also wildly underselling everything that happens.
In the Hellfire Club, Eddie may as well be god. He is the creator of the world they play in, both everything and nothing.
“I’m not gonna go easy on you guys just because you’ve got my girl in your party,” Eddie warns them, with a wicked grin, reaching out to quickly flip the end of her ponytail.
Chrissy smiles, a blush staining her cheeks. “Who, me? I can’t be your girl - I’m Nierys Moondrinker, level nine Druid.”
Dustin grins and shakes playfully at her shoulders, taunting Eddie: "She's gonna help us kick your ass."
God, he loves this little shit.
"-I want to convince the witch to tell me where he went," Chrissy says, shaky but confident. The longer she's played, the more calm and certain she's getting. It's sort of fantastic to watch, actually.
Eddie lifts his eyes, holding her gaze and purrs "Give me a persuasion check."
Chrissy bites her lip as she lets go of her dice. "...fourteen?"
"The old witch describes a trail to you…"
When he introduces Vecna amongst the hooded cultists, her male teammates begin screeching in horrified excitement, and Chrissy assumes from the panicked wails and frantic flailing that this is the Really Bad Guy. They aren’t exactly in top form, either. “You are scared. You’re tired, you’re injured,” Eddie coos, though he is completely solemn. “Do you flee Vecna and his cultists? Or do you stand your ground and fight?”
The poor boys are all panicking, she can tell. But as somber as Eddie looks, Chrissy has watched sports for long enough to spot a trash-talking challenger when she sees him. The others gape at her as she stares him down and smirks at Eddie. “We fight.”
Dustin practically bounces in his seat, shaking Chrissy’s shoulders again with a massive grin, hooting his support for this plan: “-to the death!”
The other boys bang on the table, hollering “To. The. Death! To. The. Death!”
Eddie’s smile is positively devilish as he drops back into his seat, nodding as he acknowledges this decision.
What follows is something of a bloodbath. They don’t actually have a cleric - the person who heals you, Dustin had told her sadly, our only cleric was Will and he isn’t here - so apart from their own buffs and abilities, they don’t have much ability to bounce back from the damage they take.
Mike, who is supposed to be the paladin and tanking for their team, is taken out almost immediately - looming over the board like the dark, malevolent god that he is, Eddie swats his figure from the table with a careless sweep of the hand and poor Mike moans piteously with his face in his hands.
In the end Chrissy and Dustin are the only people still left standing and Gareth tries to talk them into backing down. “You need to roll a Nat 20 - that’s 20 to 1 odds-”
Chrissy, intensely absorbed by now, won’t even hear of it, shaking the dice cupped between her palms. “To the death!” she snaps, and lets it go, breathlessly waiting for it to stop rolling.
Eddie leans down to watch its path, his serious demeanor breaking down into a wide smile. "Twenty," he crows, with a little leap she can’t help but find adorable, clapping his hands together. “Victory belongs to Nierys Moondrinker!”
The boys all absolutely lose it, going bananas around her - screaming, cheering, jumping up and down. Dustin shakes her so hard that Chrissy nearly falls over and she can't help herself from bouncing along with them as she hugs him back, grinning like an absolute lunatic all the while - which might literally be Eddie’s favorite thing ever.
The boys are on a sugar high and on a winning high and immediately go outside to shriek their victory to the night, chatting excitedly with and at each other.
Chrissy doesn't seem that much different as the munchkins all go home, chattering excitedly with him in the back of the van with a packet of Twizzlers in her lap. She isn't ready to go home and so he assumes that's a code for "I don't wanna wreck this good mood by having to talk to my mom right now, please feed me sugar and tell me I'm pretty". (Always a safe assumption - plus he would do it anyway.)
But he's not entirely correct.
Her lips on his taste like strawberry licorice - super into that, wow - and right away, Chrissy is tugging at his vest, tiny hands splayed warm over his club shirt.
Feeling naughty. Super into that, too.
Oh he doesn't know the half of it, yet.
She pulls insistently at his shirt, too, plucks and tugs until he obliges her nonverbal persistence and pulls the thing over his head. Shirtless in the yellow-orange light filtering in from the streetlamps outside the van, Chrissy’s eyes go wide and confused, Eddie looks down and then grins.
"Forgot about that," he admits as she stares at the little silver bars decorating both of his nipples. "Had those for the past couple of years."
"You…why?" she asks, genuinely quite puzzled.
He shrugs. "Feels good? Well, not right away, they have to heal up, but then…" She looks even more confused by this and a thought occurs to him.
Eddie slips his hand beneath her bra and pinches gently, until he can hear the soft, sweet sound of her whine. Rolling it between his fingertips, he murmurs "Feels good, hm?"
"That's…but I-I'm not a…man," she gasps quietly, encouraging his other hand to touch her, too.
"Girls and guys aren't that different, here," he tells her, pulling down the front of her shirt to kiss and lick where his hands have touched.
Her shirt will end up so stretched out she'll never be able to wear it anywhere decent again, but Chrissy doesn't even care, shifting up higher on her knees and curling her fingers through his hair to feed him her own flesh. Her panties grow damp, his teeth hungrily scraping over her chest and she forgets what they were even-
It's his bare skin against her hands, the smooth skin of his long back and the uneven pattern of black ink across it that brings her back to her original desire. She has enough breath and sense left to gasp "...no!"
Eddie quickly moves his hands from her body, repeating “No?” in a tone both bewildered and mildly alarmed.
Without his head bent forward, Chrissy has a much better view of his chest, and now that she isn’t so distracted by the surprise of his piercings, she can see the ink all over him.
On top of the bats, the demon-puppet, and the wyvern all over his arms that she’s seen before, and the burning black sun just beneath his collarbone that he'd flashed her the first time they really spoke to each other, Eddie also had a large crow, wings spread, across the left side of his rib cage. It led all the way to his heart and the crow plucked there with his sharp beak, opening up the crack inked there. There was another tattoo on his opposite side, a knife that followed the crest of his hip, made whimsical by a cluster of strawberries and their blossoms twined around it.
"Oh." It was all she could say, because it's so beautiful in its own way. Or rather, he is beautiful, because they are him, aren't they? It's all Eddie, just Eddie.
Eddie shifts uneasily, realizing that they maybe should have had a little chat about this beforehand but…he kinda sorta forgot? He lives with them every day, sees them on his own body constantly, so he pretty much forgets that they exist in the same way you don't consciously think about your own fingernails or eyelashes.
Chrissy has been extremely go-with-the-flow about all of this so far, but this is definitely another Very New Thing for her. Which is why Eddie just about has an entire out-of-body experience when her hands slowly brush over his chest, stroking down his skin. His eyes snap down to her face. Chrissy is looking up at him through her lashes, biting her lower lip. It’s never happened to him with a girl before, but Eddie suddenly feels like he’s being…seduced.
Oh, little girl - I am the fucking surest of sure things around, I promise you.
Though Eddie doesn’t know it, Chrissy is currently living out one of her most cherished fantasies right now, gently pushing him back and back and back, until she’s made him recline back and she’s practically resting in his lap. His brain fizzles to a literal standstill when her mouth gently touches his chest to follow up on that hint Eddie gave her earlier.
Her own curiosity leads Chrissy to open her mouth and use her tongue, intrigued by the strange contrast in texture between the warm firmness of his flesh and the cold firmness of the steel bar, the studs unyielding against the roof of her mouth.
It’s interesting and she doesn’t hate it - even if she did, she’d still keep going because she really, really likes the noise Eddie makes, a low “mmmph” that he sighs as though trying to hold it in.
She can’t help but get a little distracted, gently scraping her fingernails across his chest as she traces the sensual curve of the crow’s wings and arching neck. Distracted enough that Chrissy doesn’t realize that she’s used her teeth.
“Oh, fuck me,” he groans with quiet intensity.
He tries to reach for her, tries to touch her, but as much as Chrissy wants that, she refuses to let herself be distracted. Catching his wrists in her hands, Chrissy pulls his hands above his head rather pointedly. No, you keep these right here.
Eddie wonders if Chrissy has noticed the handcuffs hanging on the back of his bedroom door - or more importantly, what those handcuffs are for.
Eddie wonders if he has actually died and this is now his heaven.
Either way, he keeps his arms over his head, draped on the van’s floor like a good boy because that is what his lady wants.
If he hasn't died already, he's pretty sure he's going to when Chrissy's mouth keeps moving - lips caressing black feathers, fingertips trailing down his sternum, tongue swiping over red-ink strawberries and gray-ink knife. When she moves to unzip his pants, Eddie thinks he might literally and figuratively explode.
No matter how good his imagination is, he has to admit that it's never been this good.
She has never told him so, but Chrissy is pretty sure that she's good at this. Or she hopes that she is - Jason thought she was really good, but she already knows that he and Eddie are very different. She's never minded doing it too much either, though she knows some girls do. Honestly, when she was dating Jason, she preferred it. For her, it was so much less messy or painful than actually having sex.
Until, well...
Sex with Eddie has never been painful but it's usually very, very messy.
Eddie feels her tongue slide along his dick, sucking him down with an easy, practiced motion that steals his next breath right away from his lungs. She's - fuck, she's actually really, really good at this.
She gets a tiny bit distracted again - and unknowingly causes Eddie some significant agony because of it. There's just so much newness. So much to feel and touch and look at. Chrissy teases him with torturous licks of his cock and the strokes of her hands over his stomach are delicate but profoundly affecting. She can feel Eddie's legs trembling and although their positions are reversed, there's something about this that feels very similar to their first time together. It hasn't happened too much since then, but he feels like he's holding himself in check again. Like he's mentally and physically trying to restrain himself.
He also isn't really quiet - Jason was, and it actually used to make her nervous. More self-conscious. She was never completely certain she was doing it right. He would be silent, make that stupid facial expression, and then it would be over. Eddie isn't quiet. He moans, he sighs, he murmurs "What're you doing to me, little girl?", which has her rubbing her thighs together for reasons she doesn't totally understand just yet.
Beneath the tips of her fingers, she feels Eddie's abdominals continuously rippling and a glance through her eyelashes gives her a view of his face, tipped back as he tries to breath in and out a regular, controlled pace. Watches the muscles in his arms tense and relax, still raised above his head where she put them. Tense and relax, tense and relax. She watches the ink across his body shift with him.
Just to see, she sucks - a long, slow slide because she might not consciously realize it, but she kind of wants to break him, nails gently scratching into his thighs through the denim.
She can feel long muscles in his legs jerking but Eddie doesn't dislodge Chrissy from her perch on top of him.
"Ho-lyyyyy shit, Chrisssss," he hisses, teeth clenched together. But he doesn't lower his arms and he doesn't tell her to stop, which Chrissy takes to mean that he still wants her to keep going. Chrissy controls her own facial muscles so that she doesn't smile and wreck her goal here, instead trying to build herself a rhythm.
Eddie's reactions are so very well worth her efforts. Twitching near-constantly, as though he's receiving electric shocks, he pants and swears and pleads for the mercy of his immortal soul, but he never demands that she stop. She inhales the heady smell of male and sex and squeezes her legs together again, absently scratching gently at Eddie's chest again.
He smells like a person, like a sweaty human being and not the overwhelming scent of the men's fragrance section at a department store - unlike Jason's silence, this is something that she never even realized until this very moment that she'd always found deeply uncomfortable and unsettling.
But she pushes that thought away, as revealing as it is, and concentrates instead on the feel of his cock in her mouth, the shape sliding over her tongue. And something even more shocking occurs to Chrissy: this could be inside you.
It shouldn't be surprising or novel - she HAS had sex before, even if not with Eddie - but the rush it sends through her is some kind of revelation. It's one thing to know that you are capable of having sex and another thing completely to crave one specific dick with everything that you are. Or more importantly, the specific man attached to that specific dick. EDDIE could be inside of her. Chrissy moans at the very idea. Oh, she's ready. She's so ready-
"Fuck, Chris, you're gonna make me cum," Eddie confesses in a panicked burst, palms braced on the floor as he tries to pull his hips as far back from her mouth as he can. He assumes that she isn't going to be okay with swallowing, and that's fine but he's really serious about the cumming. "Chrissy-"
Until whatever afterlife that waits for him descends upon Eddie Munson's black soul, he's going to cherish the memory of his little girl swallowing him down with her eyes closed as though she is absolute rapture because his girlfriend is clearly a perfect angel from heaven above (obviously, duh). He manages to heave a heartfelt "Holy fuck, Chris."
She releases him with a loud pant, lips swollen pink. "Can-can you, please-?"
Eddie's not sure what she's asking for as she tugs at his wrist, until she presses his fingers beneath her skirt. She's soaked, Chrissy fucking destroyed her own panties, and he swears that he blacks out a tiny bit as Eddie realizes that the moaning was probably not just a technique to make him feel good. "Jesus, Chris," he whispers, fingers shoving the wet cotton aside to feel her slick and hot in his hand. She whines. "You really like makin' me squirm, huh, little girl?"
"Please hurry," she begs.
It's reckless of him but Eddie pushes three fingers into her right away - it's stupid and he shouldn't fucking do that, he's never had her take more than two before but luckily Chrissy only moans into his belly, sending residual shivers through his body with her mouth on the treasure trail leading down to his cock as she arches her hips into the touch.
Gripping one of her thighs, he pushes his fingers in deeper, thumb free to play with her clit. Her whines turn into more insistent, heartfelt whimpers, mostly "Eddie", "please", and "yes" - music to his goddamn ears - and he let her move whatever way she needed to until she's just fucking herself on his fingers.
He isn't sure she notices the way he shudders when she kisses the dagger on his hip.
One day, not today, but one day, Eddie will tell her that the strawberries are newer than the knife. The only color in his constellation of ink, placed there for a girl with strawberry blond hair and strawberry shampoo.