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“Eddie!” Chrissy’s voice comes thundering through to the back room, where he’s lazily scribbling down chords for a possible new song. “Eddie !”
Fuck .
Eddie knows what that tone of voice means. He’s been with Chrissy long enough now to have built up a pretty comprehensive catalogue of sounds she makes and a majority of this catalogue is taken up by the various nuances in the way she can say his name.
He scrambles to stand from the desk chair, setting his acoustic down with a lack of care that would leave him horrified and begging forgiveness from the assemblage of wood and metal on any normal occasion. But this is not a normal occasion. This is an emergency .
“Coming!” he calls as he careens down the hallway much faster than anyone should be moving on such a sweltering, midsummer’s day. He’ll probably have soaked through his t-shirt and have to change for the second time today by the time he reaches the kitchen but, as he said, emergency . Sweat patches and the need for an unexpected trip to the laundrette are honestly the least of his worries.
He rounds the corner into the kitchen and there’s Chrissy, in teeny-tiny short shorts and one of his t-shirts thrown over them and God, she’s so pretty, so beautiful, even drowning in the fabric of his top, even with her face flushed from the heat and her hair piled messily above her head so that it won’t make her neck all sweaty and her hand on her hip and-
Wait.
Her hand on her hip.
Double fuck .
She turns to him, her expression cryptic and unreadable. “Eddie, did you get something from the freezer last night?”
Now a question like this may seem like a simple yes/no affair but do not be fooled! The hand is on the hip! This is a trap carefully laid out before him and waiting to spring! This is where he has to figure out what his supposed crime is so that he can assess its severity and accurately guess the correct way to respond to avoid putting his foot in it and making the whole situation worse . Lucky for him, there are not a great many freezer-related transgressions to choose from so it shouldn't take too long…
Aha! Is this about the fact that he’d opened the final pack of ice lollies (which were being strictly rationed in this household as they’d been sold out the last time they went to the store) last night whilst Chrissy was at bitchy-Sandra-from-work’s leaving do?
Okay. It was maybe a little inconsiderate of him but ultimately, not really a big deal. (There were four in the packet! He had left the last two for her!!) Chrissy was a reasonable woman - she would recognise the little inconsiderate but ultimately not really a big deal nature of the crime - so Eddie prescribed a dusting of humour to lighten the mood, followed by an earnest apology and maybe a brief kiss and voila! He'd be back in Chrissy's good graces in no time! “Well, it’s hotter than Satan’s asscrack in here so yes, I might have had a couple of ice-based treats-”
His shitty attempt at humour (it was the best he could do on such short notice, okay?!) sadly does nothing to lighten the mood, and she continues to look at him with a distinct air of annoyance and disappointment as she cuts him off to ask, “And did you close the freezer door properly?”
Ah. Here was the trap springing shut. “...Yes?” Eddie tries optimistically.
Bzzzzt! Ehh-Uhh! Wrong Answer! Chrissy shifts her weight from one foot to the other and crosses her arms.
(It wasn’t his fault the stupid freezer door had a knack to it. Freezer doors weren’t supposed to have a knack to them! You were just supposed to pull them open and then push them closed!) “...No?”
“No,” she confirms. “And how many times have I told you how important it is to make sure the freezer door is fully closed?”
Triple fuck .
Or maybe it had just skipped to, like, quintuple by now. How high did the fuck -scale go? Whatever the most catastrophic, abysmal, apocalyptic level was, he was at it! Right! Now!
“I’m so sorry, babe. That was really careless of me. I clearly wasn’t thinking.” Now is not the time for clever techniques; now is the time for grovelling and pleading and silently praying to every single God he doesn’t believe in. “I swear, swear , on my warlock that it will never happen again.”
He crosses the room to wrap his arms around her. After some weak attempts at resisting, she concedes with a sigh and allows him to hold her, but turns her head to the side so that he knows that she’s still mad at him.
He kisses the skin beneath her ear. “Please, tell me how I can make it up to you,” he murmurs. “Anything you want, honey, I'll do it.”
“Well, you can start by de-icing the freezer, honey .”
Eddie winces. “Okay, anything but that-”
She makes a frustrated noise, once again shrugging off his arms from around her and this time succeeding.
“But I’ll be useless at it!" he pleads. "Come on, babe, you know I will.”
De-icing the freezer requires jabbing a knife at the frosty clumps with careful, precise focus so as to avoid accidentally damaging the cooling element (something he only knows from watching Chrissy the last time she did it) and so is clearly not a job Eddie should be trusted with.
She seems to realise this too because, after a few long seconds in which Eddie sees his entire life flash before his eyes, she does finally give in. “Fine,” she huffs. “On your knees.”
Okayyyyyyy! We are back in business, baby!!
He quickly sinks to the floor before her and eagerly reaches for the waistband of her shorts.
“No,” she tells him firmly, swatting his hand away.
“But-”
“Beg.”
“What?”
“Beg for me to sort the freezer out for you, even though you’re the one who messed it up.”
He sighs. That is a lot less enjoyable than he thought this was going to be. Still, maybe he can try to have a little fun with it. “Please, please , oh gracious Chrissy, love of my life, light of my world,” he says dramatically in a booming stage voice, arms flying out in grand gestures to express the breadth of his emotion. “I know that I am not worthy of your mercy, but if you can find it in your generous heart to bless me with leniency this one time , know that never again will I allow my actions to bring disgrace to this household in such a hideous manner. Please, oh please, Chrissy. Please show me this kindness of de-icing the freezer for me and I swear to you, it will be repaid tenfold!”
The scowl on her face is even more extreme now, but Eddie has a feeling that’s just so that she can better hide the smile that must be fighting to come out. (Because, I mean, come on. That was good. Even she had to admit it.) She graces him with a single, precise nod of her head. “Kiss my feet,” she instructs.
He stares up at her.
She stares down at him.
He stares up at her.
Her eyebrow raises in a challenge.
A challenge that Eddie is sure as hell not going to back down from.
“But of course my darling angel, my beautiful pearl, my sweet, little-”
“Eddie, less of this,” she tells him shortly, opening and closing her four fingers against her thumb in the universal symbol for incessantly talking that Eddie has seen quite a lot of throughout his life. “More of that.” She points downwards.
Slowly, he lowers his head and presses his lips to the smooth, delicate slope on the top of her left foot, her skin unbearably soft beneath them.
“And the other one,” she prompts, voice sharp and authoritative and sexy and-
Wait a second! …Wait.
Is he into this?
It’s a ridiculous question (there isn’t even really a this to be into!) but… he definitely is kinda turned on… so…
No, it’s probably just because he thought she was going to get him to eat her out, he reasons. That’s why it’s getting him kinda hot. He was already in that headspace (and let's be honest, it takes very little to get him there when it comes to Chrissy), and then she pulled this weird power-trip 180 on him and his poor little brain had no idea what to do with it. Yeah, that makes more sense.
“Eddie!”
He’s pulled out of his thoughts by her voice, insistent and exasperated. He lifts his head from where it was still bowed over her foot, lips against her skin. “Yeah?”
She’s looking down at him sort of strangely, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. “I said , you can get up now.”
“Or,” he says, drawing the word out as he chances a hand on the inside of her knee (as high as he dares to go so soon after clawing his way out of the bad books), “while I’m down here I could eat you out?”
“Eddie,” she warns.
“Please?”
“No. I have a goddamned freezer to de-ice .”
*
Early that evening, when Eddie’s sprawled out on the sofa just staring at the ceiling (pinballing between daydreaming about how cool and refreshing an ice lolly would be right now and warning himself that he can ABSOLUTELY NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, GO AND GET ONE OF THE LAST TWO ICE LOLLIES RIGHT NOW), Chrissy comes to stand in the middle of the room.
“I feel like I need to change my shoes, maybe.”
He sits up.
The pink dress she’s wearing is all soft and floaty and the shade of it is somehow perfectly matched to that of her heels, which encase her feet with three thin straps - one around the ankle and one crossing diagonally over the front of her foot and one final one which her painted toenails (pink as well, of course) peek out from.
“I’m just worried that it might be, like, too much pink." She looks down at her outfit, contemplative expression on her face again, before she returns her eyes to meet his. "What do you think?”
“I think you look really fucking hot,” he tells her truthfully.
She sighs, “I don’t know why I ask you these things,” and turns to walk out of the room.
“I didn't realise you were out again today?” (Depriving Eddie of her company two evenings in a row required a level of cruelty that he had not realised she was capable of exhibiting.)
Her brow furrows slightly. “Yeah, Daisy’s baby shower. It’s on the calendar.”
Ah fuck. The calendar . When they’d first moved in together she had been so excited to install a shared calendar on the front of the fridge, held up by a double cherry- and a strawberry-shaped magnet. There were three different colours to distinguish between things Eddie was doing (red), things Chrissy was doing (pink), and things they were both doing together (purple). Unsurprisingly, the thing is entirely filled with pinks and purples, all in Chrissy’s neat, even hand, because, other than work, the only things Eddie does separately from Chrissy are shows at the Hideout on Tuesday nights and band practice on Saturday mornings, which both happen at exactly the same time each week, and Eddie refuses point blank to waste his time filling in identical things multiple times on every single page.
“I didn’t check the calendar,” he admits.
Her face drops into an exasperated expression. “Well, whose fault is that, then?”
“What am I gonna do?”
“Meet up with the guys,” she suggests. “Rent a movie. Play guitar. Jerk off.” As she passes him, she drops a kiss onto the crown of his head.
“This is neglect. I’m phoning CPS,” he calls out, spinning around to peer over the back of the sofa to where she’s picking her keyring up from the bowl by the door; an assortment of sparkly pink charms outnumber the actual keys on there at least five to one.
“Sweetie, you’re 21,” she reminds him softly without even turning back to look at him. “I’ll be a couple of hours, okay? I love you.”
He crosses his arms, resolves not to say it back, but just before he sees the door shut the final inch he blurts out, “I love you too!”
The door pauses for a second before it closes all the way. The sound of charms jangling accompanies that of the key turning in the lock.
Eddie slides down the sofa until he crumples into a pool on the floor.
*
Chrissy leaves him for roughly six days . (She will later insist that it was only two hours and nineteen minutes, and the clock will concur, but he’s not falling for their lies!)
When he hears her key turning in the lock, he purposefully pushes down his instinct to rush to the door and smother her in welcome kisses like he usually does and he keeps his eyes fixed on the screen that’s showing some gory horror flick as she breezes through into the living room and takes a seat beside him on the sofa. He doesn’t even react when she kicks her feet up into his lap.
“Can you take my shoes off for me, please?”
In silence, he carefully undoes the strap on one of her ankles, slipping the shiny, plasticky material out through the metal buckle before sliding the whole thing off and placing it neatly on the floor in front of the sofa. He lets her bare foot fall back into his lap and she raises the other to his hands so that he can repeat the process again. Once he’s lined the shoe up next to the first with a level of perfectionism that even Chrissy would struggle to rival, he returns his eyes to the screen.
She tilts her head to rest against the back of the sofa and stares over at him, studying his face. He’s only vaguely aware of all this in his periphery because he knows that she'll be able to tell if he slides his eyes to the side even just for a second, even if he kept his head totally still.
She sighs. “Are you still mad at me for going out, baby?”
He shrugs (because despite her insistence otherwise, he is, deep down, a child) and she laughs lightly at him in response, the sound sweet as sugar as it spills from her lips.
Rubbing her foot over the front of his jeans, she asks, her voice low and sultry, “Will you let me make it up to you?”
Eddie displays a Herculean show of mental fortitude and self-control as he lasts, like, at least ten whole minutes, probably more like a quarter of an hour (although Chrissy and the clock might once again have something to say about this claim) before he gives in, standing and scooping her up into his arms in one swift, graceful movement. Her legs slide naturally around his waist and her hands clasp together behind his neck as their lips find each other so easily that it’s like they belong pressed together. She tastes of sugar and fruit and a hint of alcohol like the girly cocktails she likes to drink, and as he carries her through to their bedroom, Eddie briefly muses on the fact that it’s sort of rude to drink at a celebration for a woman who currently can’t drink before his brain reminds him that Chrissy’s fingers are in his hair and her tongue is in his mouth and her cunt is pressed against his stomach which is right next to his dick and his deep philosophical contemplation can surely wait a couple of hours.
On the bed, with him hunched over her like some disgusting goblin creature who's guarding his treasure (which isn't exactly in accurate), she presses her lips to his briefly before he’s pulling away to trail a line of kisses down her body until he can push the soft fabric of her dress up her thighs to reveal the hot pink lace hidden beneath.
He groans into the crease of her thigh. “You wear this especially for Daisy’s baby shower?” he asks teasingly, one fingertip slipping beneath her underwear and running teasingly along the very edge of the hem.
“No.” The word comes out as a delicate whisper, a soft rosy blush spreading across her cheeks.
He tuts, shaking his head slightly as he lowers it to her. “Naughty girl,” he chides, low and rumbling, and he’s not sure if it’s the words or the broad stripe that he licks right up the thin scrap of lacy fabric between her legs straight after that makes her moan and tug at his hair. Possibly both, he thinks, no need to limit yourself. As he continues mouthing at it, laving his tongue over it, insistently pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses against it, her underwear rapidly becomes increasingly drenched from both sides.
“ Eddie ,” she whines.
(This, this , is how he would like her to say his name every single time. He’s working on it, okay?)
“What is it, sugar?”
“Take them off, please,” she requests, her voice high and breathy.
“Well, since you asked so nicely.” He grins as he draws her underwear down over her smooth legs, which she lifts up into the air to make it easier for him, her feet hanging either side of his body, somewhere close to his shoulders. He unhooks the scrap of pink fabric over her right foot, and then her left, and as he tosses them on the floor he catches her left ankle in his broad palm before she can return it to rest on the mattress the way her other foot does.
He presses a kiss to her ankle, and then snakes a long line of them up the inside edge of her foot, following the gentle arch, the curve of which is so delicate and beautiful and Eddie's no connoisseur but he thinks it must be more impressive than any work of art he's ever seen, and when he's nearly reached her big toe she says, “Babe, what are you doing?”
He draws away and looks up at her. She’s smiling, although there’s no mocking twist of her lip that he might have expected from her words, just inquisitive and earnest. “I was just-”
“You’re kinda into that, aren’t you?”
Oh shit . Play dumb . “Into what?”
“My feet.”
“What?” he splutters, giving a quite frankly oscar-worthy performance of surprise and betrayal and indignant denial. “I can't believe -”
“Put my toe in your mouth.” That firm, authoritative tone from earlier in the day has found its way back into her voice.
“ What ?” He doesn’t have to act this time to infuse an edge of shock into the word. He can feel heat rising on his cheeks.
“My toe,” she repeats matter-of-factly, as if it’s the most mundane, ordinary, normal thing she could ever say. “Put it in your mouth. Now please, Eddie.”
(This way of saying his name is usually reserved for when she's not happy with him, like when she's telling him to collect in all fifteen of his half-empty coffee mugs that are currently littered around the apartment so he can wash them now please, Eddie , or when he was supposed to start getting ready to leave the trailer fifteen minutes ago but he got distracted by a really cool D&D idea that he just had to jot down and now they're going to be late for drinks at Steve's so could he just get himself sorted now please, Eddie , and look, it's an honour to have his name come out of her mouth at all , he is definitely not making any complaints, but if he had to rank them he thinks this would be up there for top five ways he least enjoys hearing it spill from her lips. And yet… yet there are certain parts of his anatomy that are for some reason very interested in the way she's said it just now; let's just leave it at that, okay?)
He takes her big toe (he's assuming she meant her big toe) between his lips and honestly it feels… weird. Just kind of weird. He's just sat there with a toe in his mouth he doesn't know how it's supposed to not feel weird.
“Suck on it.”
So he does, hollows out his cheeks, and then swirls his tongue around it the way that he does when she sometimes slips her thumb past his lips whilst she’s got him on his knees before she lets him eat her out and oh. Oh, okay .
“Kisses, please,” she requests, and he drops soft, sweet pecks on the ends of each of her tiny little toes; “Lick it,” she instructs, and he runs the very tip of his tongue from her heel right up the length of her foot.
It makes her giggle and he smiles over at her. “You finding this funny, Cunningham?”
“Tickles,” she explains.
So he does it again, just to hear the sound ring through the room, and then repeats the motion but this time with his tongue pushed out as wide and flat as it'll go so that there's a broad stripe in the middle of her foot that is left with a slight sheen from his spit, and she doesn't laugh this time but she does squirm against the bedsheets, and after that it's easy to carry on without the need for direction, just seeing what sounds he can get her to make, letting his heart and his soul (and yes, okay, also his dick) guide him. And she giggles for him and squirms and gasps and sighs and rolls her hips and calls out his name until he feels like his heart is so full that it's about to burst (and yes! okay! also his dick! But this is a pure, joyous moment of self-discovery and he doesn't want to cheapen it by getting that guy too involved!!). The feeling is so violent that he has no choice but to announce, “I'm sorry, angel, but I honestly think I might explode if I'm not inside you in, like, the next two minutes and you're way too pretty to go to jail for my murder, so-” He tries to surge forward up the bed so that he can kiss her.
She stops him with her leg extended to press her foot flat against the centre of his chest, a mischievous grin on her lips, and oh God, she’s the devil! He’s dating the devil! One day, with any luck, he will marry and raise two-and-a-half children (two-and-a-half no doubt adorable, evil, infernal children) with the devil !
If Carver only knew. If he could see them now. He’d be on his knees thanking Eddie for saving him from this wicked, trickster woman who is almost definitely Lucifer himself hiding behind the beautiful, beaming face of a 19-year-old girl. Eddie has been fairly open to the idea of Satanic worship for years now so he can take something like this in his stride no problem, but future- cool -and- hip- Youth-Pastor Jason Carver would possibly spontaneously combust given a revelation like this so late in the game about the woman he was planning on making his wife.
He drags his eyes from her foot, up the length of her toned, tanned leg to where her bare cunt is pink and soaked and waiting for him, then past the soft fabric of her dress rucked up to pool around her waist, over her delicate collarbones, the pale column of her neck, her pretty lips and sweet little nose, until he’s met with her bright blue eyes looking back at him.
(She’s stunning. She’s fascinating. She’s perfect. If she asked him to slit both of his wrists in front of her right now he'd do it.)
He lifts an eyebrow.
“Aren’t you going to say thank you very much, Chrissy ?” she asks, biting her lip, a certain air of innocence to her even as she eyes him the way a predator watches their prey.
“Thank you very much, Chrissy,” he repeats obediently through a grin that spreads right across his face.
“What for?”
That is his trick that he uses to get her to thank him for making her come or feeding her his cock or for fucking her so good and clearly he’s created a monster. A terrible, villainous, sexy monster. He has no one to blame but himself.
“Thank you for letting me put my mouth on your perfect little feet, honey.”
She nods, slowly lowers her leg. “Come up here and kiss me.”
*
Later, they’re lying side by side, his arm slung loosely over her because despite it being late it’s still too hot and the air’s still too humid to want to be too close to anyone, even the love of your life who you think may possibly be Satan in disguise.
“Do you think it’s weird?” he asks.
“Hmm?”
“Like, is it weird that I find all that so hot?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably. But it’s been a year, Eddie. I’m used to weird; it’s kinda the norm with you.”
“So you’re not going to break up with me for it?”
She lets out a harsh bark of laughter, something that he’s always surprised to hear out of such a delicate mouth. “No, sweetheart. Not for that. Definitely not.”
He smiles, pulls her in a little closer to him, just enough that he can press a kiss to the round of her shoulder.
“However, if you don’t learn how to shut the freezer door properly…”