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"You cannot be serious.” You remarked, leaning back against the rough brick of the theater wall, arms crossed over your chest as you watched Eddie Munson pace ina small circle in front of you. "You’re telling me that the third act - the part where the protagonist literally sacrificed his soul to save the world - was lazy writing?"
Eddie stopped pacing and whirled on you, the heels of his boots scuffing against the ground. He held his hands out, palms up, as if appealing to the cosmos for some back up. "It wasn't lazy, it was predictable. Which is arguably worse.”
“How is that worse?”
“It’s the narrative equivalent of Wonderbread, sweetheart. Empty and plain with zero nutritional value.”
“Hey, I love Wonderbread.”
“Not important -”
“Rude -”
“Point is that he had the dagger! Right there! Why summon some ancient evil when you can just stab the guy?"
"Because the dagger was broken, idiot," you countered, trying to keep the grin off your face. Your friend took some fantasy movies far too seriously. "Did you even watch the movie?”
Eddie scoffed, stepping closer. He was invading your personal space, something he’d been doing a lot lately. "The dagger being broken is a plot contrivance designed to force the melodrama. It’s cheap. And stupid. And I hated it."
“You’re bitching like a little baby.”
“Am not.”
"It’s called tension, Eddie. Something you wouldn't know tension if it walked up and bit you on the -"
"Excuse you, my lady - but I know tension," Eddie cut you off, his voice dropping an octave as he took another step forward, quickly eliminating the remaining distance between you until you had to tilt your chin up to look him in the eye.
The air between you, usually filled with the comfortable static of your bickering, suddenly felt… Thick. Charged. It was like the atmosphere right before a thunderstorm. It clung to you, heavy and electric against your skin.
Eddie reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. The touch lingered, his ringed knuckles grazing the line of your jaw. It wasn't the first time he’d touched you tonight, or even this week, but this felt different. Far less accidental or platonic. More intentional. And he didn’t drop his hand to his side.
"I know plenty about tension," he murmured, his dark eyes locking onto yours, searching for something you couldn’t quite place. Or that you didn’t want to. "Like… Right now. For example."
Your breath hitched in your throat, just slightly. Maybe if he notices, you could blame it on the cool, nighttime air. Though you knew it would’ve been a lie. You stood your ground, refusing to step aside. "Is that so?"
"Mhm." Eddie smiled, but it wasn't his usual manic, energetic grin. It was softer at the edges. Still charming, but infinitely more likely to get you into trouble.
“Smartass.”
"Oh, come on. You're standing there looking at me like you wanna throttle me, but… Your pupils are huge. I can see ‘em from here."
“Well, you’re in my face.”
“They’re still way too big.”
"Maybe it’s the adrenaline," you lied smoothly. "From the movie. The chase scene."
"Right. The chase scene," he teased, his thumb traced the curve of your jawline to just under your lower lip. Your pulse skyrocketed, and you wondered if he could feel it. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. "Adrenaline sure makes you do crazy things, doesn't it?”
“Such as?”
“Makes you say things you don't mean. Do things you shouldn't." There was a challenge in his tone. A question hanging in the air between you, unspoken but loud.
How far are we gonna take this?
You narrowed your eyes at him, masking the flutter in your stomach with a practiced smirk. You weren't quite ready to fold. Not just yet. Maybe you wanted to see just how far Eddie Munson was willing to push before he remembered that - up till recently, apparently - you were nothing more than his good friend.
"You're projecting, Munson." You rolled your eyes. "Just because that scene had you gripping the armrests like a terrified toddler doesn't mean the rest of us were affected in any way whatsoever."
Eddie laughed. It vibrated in his chest and seemed to transfer straight to yours, given your proximity. He didn't move away. Instead, he got closer, bracketing your hips with his hands, placing them on the wall on either side of your body. He wasn't quite touching you, but he made a fairly effective cage. The smell of his leather jacket, mixed with cigarette smoke and some sort of woody cologne enveloped you.
"Terrified toddler?" He raised an eyebrow. "I'll have you know, I was… Invested."
"Invested." You repeated, the word tasting dry on your tongue. You glanced down at his hands for half a second, then back up to his eyes. He knew what he was doing, and so did you. Let him see that you weren't oblivious to the shift your conversation had taken. "You were sweating. I think you still are."
"I run hot," he said without missing a beat. His gaze drifted down to your mouth, then back up, darker this time. "You know that."
"Do I?"
Eddie leaned in closer, his nose almost brushing against yours. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. Don’t do anything stupid.
"Yep. I think you know a lot of things about me that you don't let on. And I think," he paused, his eyes flicking over your face with an intensity that made your knees want to buckle. "That you liked the movie a lot more than you're saying. You’re just arguing to be difficult."
"I'm always difficult," you whispered back, testing the weight of the moment. You didn't pull away from the wall or push his arms away. You simply watched him.
"Yeah, I know." Eddie’s voice dropped to a husky murmur. "That's the problem."
He held the pose for a heartbeat longer, the space between your lips minuscule, before he finally pushed himself off the wall with a groan. He took a step back, running a hand through his hair, effectively breaking the tension but leaving the aftermath of it swirling in the cool alley air.
"Come on," his tone returned to its normal volume and cadence. Though the playful glint in his eye hadn't faded. "Let's get you home before you start analyzing the cinematography of the goblin caverns."
You pushed yourself off the wall, legs feeling a little unsteady beneath you. "I already have notes, actually."
"Of course you do," he laughed, bumping his shoulder against yours - harder than necessary, definitely on purpose. "God forbid you just enjoy a moment."
"I enjoy plenty of moments," you said, shoving your hands into your pockets to hide the fact that your fingers were trembling slightly.
"Do you?" He glanced at you sideways, a smirk playing on his lips. "Do you really?"
You didn't answer as you matched his pace on the sidewalk, the city lights flooding your vision. Wondering how much longer you could keep up this act before one of you broke and did something.
The Hideout was… Sticky. Loud. And it smelled exactly like one would expect it to - stale beer and questionable life choices.
But watching Eddie onstage was worth it. He truly transformed when he had a guitar in his hands. The goofy, rambling guy who argued about movies or planned DnD campaigns vanished, replaced by some confident force of nature. When his eyes locked onto yours from behind the mess of hair mid-guitar solo, you felt it like a physical tug.
By the time his band had finished their set, the adrenaline buzzing in your veins had nothing to do with the music and everything to do with the way Eddie had been looking at you.
Friends don’t look at one another like that. Do they?
He found you at the bar afterwards, breathless and grinning, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Did you see that solo?”
“I heard it, yeah.”
Eddie rolled his eyes. “Did you hear the way I nailed that transition?"
"It was adequate," you shouted over the lingering noise of the crowd, fighting a smile. "If you like that sort of thing. Very… Enthusiastic."
"Adequate?" He laughed incredulously, grabbing a bottle of water from the counter. "I poured my soul out for you people, and all I get from you is adequate? You wound me."
"Someone’s gotta keep your ego in check, Munson.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah, it's a full-time job."
“Sounds exhausting. I hope you’re at least getting good benefits.
Eddie took a swig of water, his eyes never leaving yours. The post-show energy was slowly simmering into something else. Something heavier.
After a moment, he glanced down at the top you were wearing - some skimpy, backless number that felt appropriate for a dive bar and nowhere else. You weren’t even sure why you’d worn it. To tempt fate? Or a very specific lead guitarist?
"Also, since you're my dedicated ego manager," he started, stepping closer so the two of you didn't have to shout anymore. "You should probably come back to my place. We need to debrief. I think there were structural flaws in the second set that require immediate action. Over grilled cheese."
You raised an eyebrow. "Grilled cheese? It’s one in the morning."
"That’s the best time to eat it." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Besides, I found my VHS copy of that one movie you hate. We can watch it, and you can tell me exactly why I’m wrong."
“I thought you hated my movie analysis.”
“What on earth would give you that idea?”
“The time you told me god, I hate it when you do that - can’t you just enjoy the movie.”
“Don’t act like you don’t also have totally bullshit opinions on movies sometimes.”
Eddie shrugged. “A broken clock is right twice a day, sweetheart. Now. Sandwiches?"
You knew you should go home. That friends didn't usually go back to each other's places at one in the morning for grilled cheese and movie critiques when the air between them was already thick enough to choke on. But… Fuck it.
"Fine. But if you burn mine, I'm leaving."
"Deal."
Back at his trailer, the atmosphere shifted. Almost imperceptively at first. It was just the two of you in the dim light of the kitchen, the hum of the refrigerator the only sound. You’d hoisted yourself up onto the counter, needing the height to feel less vulnerable. The air was cool against the exposed skin of your back, raising gooseflesh along your spine.
"Ah, grilled cheese," Eddie announced, pulling a pan out from a pile of dishes in the drying rack. He moved with a kind of restless energy, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel to expose the tattoos winding up his forearms. "The breakfast of champions. Or their midnight snack. Whatever."
"Are you going to burn it?" You asked, watching him slap butter into the pan.
"I thought the deal was that I don’t burn it.” He scoffed, flipping the butter knife with a flourish. "Besides, I’m a culinary master. Have a little faith.”
He turned to grab the cheese, and you shifted your weight, turning slightly to reach for a glass of water you’d left near the edge. The movement stretched your back, arching it.
Eddie glanced up and stopped. The sound of the butter sizzling in the pan was suddenly the only audible sound in the small space.
"You know," his voice dropped, losing the playful lilt. "You’ve been distracting me all night."
You froze, your hand hovering over the water glass. "I was just sitting in the corner."
"Yeah." He turned fully toward you now, abandoning the stove. He walked over slowly, the heavy tread of his boots muffled by the linoleum. Your throat felt dry. "I kept looking at you. Wondering."
"Wondering what?" You turned your head to look at him, your heart rate picking up speed.
"Wondering how you’re not cold," he murmured, stopping at the end of the counter beside you. His gaze burned a trail down your neck. "There’s like, no back on that thing. It’s just… skin."
“I think it’s called a halter top.”
“Why?”
“Dunno. It’s… Breathable.” You managed, though your voice was thinner than you intended.
"Breathable." He repeated thoughtfully. Slowly, he raised his hand, his fingertips brushing against your shoulder. "It’s dangerous."
"Dangerous?" You tried for a scoff, but it came out as a breath. "It's a shirt, Eddie."
"Is it?" Eddie leaned in, his face hovering inches beside yours, as you tried to face straight ahead. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his gaze go to the expanse of your back. "It looks like an invitation."
"An invitation to what?"
"To touch." He said it so simply. So matter-of-factly. Then, he did it.
But he didn't use his palm. He used his knuckles. The chunky silver rings he always wore were freezing cold, a contrast to the now rather feverish heat of your skin. He dragged them down the center of your spine, slowly.
Agonizingly slowly.
The sensation was violent. It was a line of ice that sparked nerve endings you didn't know you had. Your back arched instinctively, a sharp intake of air hissing between your teeth as your body chased the touch.
"Eddie," you gasped, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter. "W-what are you doing?"
He didn’t respond, and his hand didn't stop. It traveled lower still, tracing the dip of your spine. The metal rings brushed your skin in a drag that was oddly erotic. He repeated the action upwards, watching your reaction carefully. When he reached the base of your neck, he paused, his thumb flicking the flimsy tie that barely held the fabric to your body.
“Eddie…”
With a slight shift, his fingers slid around to your side, his rings biting into your ribcage as he pulled you down and off the counter, so you were pressed flush against him. Looking up, he was so close you could see the flecks of gold in his brown irises.
The contact was electric. You could feel the hard planes of his chest, the solid muscle of his thighs. You were suddenly overwhelmed by his touches, and the way he seemed to swallow you up. Your hands landed on his waist to steady yourself, fingers twisting into the fabric of his flannel.
“I think… This is probably a bad idea.” You breathed, trying to keep the upper hand, but you were drowning in him.
"And I think," Eddie whispered, "that you’re already trembling."
"I'm cold.”
"Liar. I think it’s been established that you aren’t." He smirked, a wicked, knowing tilt of his lips. He brought his other hand up, threading his fingers through your hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your head back further, exposing your throat. He leaned in, his nose tracing the line of your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. "You’re burning up.”
“I’m sure you wish you had that effect on me, Munson.”
“Pretty sure I do.”
You could feel his heartbeat against yours, or maybe it was just your own that thundered in your ears. He was right. The air in the kitchen was stifling, heavy with the smell of butter and… Him. You were trapped between the counter and the hard line of his body, and you didn't want to move.
"This is a bad idea," you repeated, but your hands were pulling him closer, not pushing him away.
"Probably the worst one we've ever had," he agreed, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear. He pressed a kiss there, light as a feather, but it made you shudder. "But I'm done thinking, aren't you?"
"Maybe, I - Mhm.” His teeth grazed your earlobe.
He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his gaze dark and stripping away every defense you had. Not that you had many. He moved his hand from your side, trailing his fingers back up your spine, slower this time, dragging the cold metal of his rings over every inch of skin he could reach.
"Say yes." He murmured, sounding rough and almost desperate. If you’d wanted him to, he probably would’ve gotten on his knees and begged. “Please.”
The tension in the room pulled tight as a bowstring. Ready to snap. The sizzle of the burning butter in the pan had turned to an aggressive hiss, but neither of you cared. You were lost in him. The cold metal on your skin. The feeling of his body against yours. And above all, the undeniable, terrifying fact that you wanted him to ruin you.
"To what? Grilled cheese?" You teased weakly, your lips hovering inches from his.
Eddie let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-growl. "To hell with the grilled cheese."
The next instant, he sealed his mouth over yours.
Eddie’s kiss was hungry. Far from the sort of tentative exploration that most first kisses between two people normally have. It felt as though he’d been waiting for the feeling of your lips on his for months - if not years. The searing kisses were erotic in their intensity, tasting of the lingering sweetness of the soda he’d had on stage. His teeth pulled at your lower lip, and you gasped into his mouth. Your hands fisting into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.
"Up," he commanded against your lip. Not waiting for you to comply, he gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh as he hoisted you onto the counter. You winced slightly as the edge hit the back of your thighs, but the pain was swallowed instantly by the pleasure of him settling into the cradle of your hips.
"Eddie," you breathed, breaking the kiss to look at him. His pupils were blown wide, his lips swollen as yours were.
His hands carefully slid under the hem of your top, his palms cool and rough against your ribs. "God, you feel like a fever."
Eddie pushed the scrap of fabric up, and you raised your arms, letting him pull it over your head. It landed somewhere on the floor, forgotten instantly. You felt only him. The grip of his hands. The way his eyes raked over you like he was starving.
"Lie back for me." The timbre of his voice dropped to that low, rumbling register that made your thighs clench.
"Eddie, the counter? Really? I-" Your voice lacked a great deal of conviction.
"I'll make it worth it." He winked, nudging your knees apart. "Lie back. Please."
The addition of the word, spoken with a mock-polite tone, sent a confusing jolt of heat through your veins. You leaned back, your elbows hitting the laminate surface, watching him through half-lidded eyes.
Eddie didn't waste a moment of your time. He dragged his knuckles down the center of your chest, over the swell of your breasts, the metal rings sliding temptingly across your smooth skin. It seemed like your friend - friend? Can we still use that term? - was a fucking tease. Probably should’ve called that one.
"Lift your hips.”
You obeyed, arching your back as he deftly unbuttoned your pants and tugged the denim down your legs. The scrap of lace that could only loosely be referred to as underwear was also quickly removed as Eddie tore through them with a quick snap.
“Hey!” You protested as he shoved them in the back pocket of his jeans. “I liked those.”
“So did I, sweetheart.” He grinned.
You shivered as the air hit your center, but before you could process the exposure, his hands were back on you.
"Look at you," he whispered, sounding a little awestruck. He ran a finger down your center, and you bit your lip to resist an unbidden moan escaping you. Make him work for those noises. "And you tried to tell me I had no effect on you."
"I'm a lot of things, but not - oh my god -" The air was stolen from your lungs as his thumb found your clit, circling it slowly. Maddeningly.
"No?" He smirked, leaning down to press a kiss to your inner thigh. "What's the word, then?"
“Don’t make me say it.”
“Oh, but I’d really love it if you did.” Eddie lightened his touch, and your hips bucked, seeking a return of the friction that he was trying to cruelly deny you. “Say it. What are you?”
"Desperate." The word tore from your throat as he reapplied a little more pressure with his thumb.
Sure you were probably setting feminism back a few decades, but the suffragettes of old had probably never experienced the skilled ministrations of a metalhead guitarist named Eddie Munson. You assumed.
"Good." He lowered his head, his breath ghosting over your exposed skin. "Me too."
The first drag of his tongue against you was slow. Torturous. He licked a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the taste of you. You cried out, head falling back against the counter. Your hands tangled in his hair to anchor yourself, for all the good it did you.
"Eddie, fuck -" Your hips bucked against him involuntarily. He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your entire body.
"Stay still," he murmured, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye. "Lemme take care of you."
"I don't need -"
"Yes, you do." He smirked, a wicked, arrogant tilt of his lips. “And lucky for you, I’m a gentleman."
Put that tongue back to work, or I’m going to scream.
"A gentleman?" You scoffed breathelessly. "You're eating me out on your kitchen counter."
"Semantics. A gentleman," he insisted, "knows that the lady always comes first."
Before you could retort, he buried his face between your thighs again. He wasn't as gentle this time. It felt like he was trying to devour you, working you with a furious precision, alternating between broad, flat strokes that made your toes curl and tight, flicking movements against your clit that had you seeing stars.
You could feel the pressure building low in your body. A tight coil of heat that wound tighter with every pass of his tongue. You arched your back, a broken moan finally tearing from your throat as he slid a finger inside you, crooking it just right to hit that spot that made your vision blur.
"Oh, god -"
“He’s not here, sweetheart. Lucky us.”
You gasped as he sucked against you, your thighs trembling around his head at the sensation. "Eddie, please."
"Please what?" He mumbled against you, not lifting his head. "Use your words."
"M-more," you begged. God? If you are there - please never let him remember that I begged for him at any point. "I need more."
He happily obliged, adding a second finger, stretching you, filling you while his mouth continued its assault on your clit. The stretch was intense, a burning pleasure that bordered on pain. And you loved it. Admittedly, you also didn’t mind the way he took control. The way he seemed intent upon making you fall apart.
Then the coil snapped. Your back bowed off the counter, a desperate, gasping groan tearing from your lips as your release crashed over you. It washed through you in waves, stealing your breath and your reason,leaving you limp and trembling. But Eddie didn't stop. He worked you through it, his fingers slowing, his tongue gentling, drawing out every last aftershock until you were begging him to stop, pushing at his head with weak hands.
"Enough," you gasped, your chest heaving. "T-too much."
"Never too much," he muttered, pressing one last, chaste kiss to your oversensitive clit before lifting his head. His hair was a wild mess from your fingers and he looked positively feral. Proud, even. "You taste like sin."
"That cannot possibly be true."
"Agree to disagree, gorgeous." He leaned over you to capture your mouth in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and it sent a fresh jolt of arousal through your body. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, feeling the hard line of his erection pressing through his jeans. “Didja have fun?”
“Yeah.” You admitted against him, only slightly begrudgingly.
"I told you. I'm a gentleman."
You laughed breathlessly. "You're ridiculous."
"And you're a wreck," he teased, his hand sliding up your side to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple. "Hmm. I think I like you like this."
"Oh?" You challenged him, lifting your hips to rub against him, feeling his breath hitch.
Eddie groaned, his forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder. "You're gonna be the death of me."
"You started it." You nipped at his earlobe, your hands sliding under his t-shirt to trace the muscles of his back, scraping his skin with your fingernails. "Take me to bed, Munson. The counter is hurting my ass."
He looked almost surprised as you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder as he picked you up with ease and carried you toward the bedroom.
It was dark, illuminated only by the faint orange glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds and the lighter he flicked to light a clove cigarette sitting in an overflowing ashtray. He dumped you unceremoniously onto his mattress, which was a chaotic pile of black sheets and mismatched pillows, smelling faintly of sandalwood and the distinct scent that was just… Him.
Before you could even sit up, Eddie was crowding over you, crawling up the bed like a predator stalking its prey. He had stripped off his flannel and his t-shirt at some point between the kitchen and the hallway, leaving his upper half bare. Your eyes traced the ink winding around his arms, the definition of his collarbones, the scattering of hair that trailed down his stomach and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.
"Like what you see?" Eddie teased, noticing your gaze.
"I'm evaluating." You propped yourself up on your elbows. "This lighting is terrible."
In one quick motion, he caught your ankles, dragging you down the bed until he could bracketed your thighs with his hips. "You're staring."
"Hard not to when you're, like, looming over me. Fucking Christ."
Eddie grinned, reaching for the button of his jeans. "You're mouthy tonight. I like it."
"I'm always mouthy."
"Yeah, but tonight it’s really doin’ somethin’ for me, not gonna lie." He shucked his jeans and boxers in one efficient movement, kicking them off the side of the bed.
Your breath hitched as Eddie finally settled over you, his skin hot against yours. He was heavy, solid, and the reality of your current situation hit you like a punch to the chest. You’d rarely considered the possibility of being naked and aroused underneath Eddie Munson. You reached up, your hands tracing ink on his chest, your fingers tangling in the chain hanging around his neck.
"You talk a big game for a guy who tripped over his own shoes earlier." You murmured, trying to regain some semblance of control.
He laughed. "Don't pretend you didn't like the view."
"I tolerate it."
"Tolerate this." Eddie growled, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss. He ground his hips against yours, his length sliding through the wetness left over from your earlier tryst, creating a friction that made your toes curl.
"Condom?" You managed to gasp against his lips. “Unless you’d like to be a father?”
He froze for a fraction of a second, then cursed, reaching over to the nightstand. He yanked the drawer open so hard the whole bedside table nearly tipped over. He fumbled around inside, his movements jerky and desperate.
You watched him briefly struggle with the foil packet in the dark. "If you drop that, I'm walking home."
"I'll have you know that I’m a professional." He finally ripped it open with his teeth. "Watch and learn."
You watched, silently appreciating the way his forearm muscles flexed as he rolled it on. All those hours practicing Metallica songs seem to have paid off. When he turned back to you, his expression was serious, the playfulness replaced by a surprising intensity and seriousness.
"You sure about this?" Eddie asked, his voice rough.
"Eddie," you sighed, reaching up to pull him down by his shoulders. "If you aren’t inside me in the next seven seconds, I'm going to strangle you with the underwear you ruined earlier.”
“Seems a little dramatic, sweetheart.”
“I sweat to God, I’m going to scream.”
"Good," he murmured, positioning himself at your entrance. "That’s the idea." He pushed inside you in one smooth, deep stroke.
Your head fell back, a broken moan tearing from your throat as he filled you. It was a stretch. A burning, pleasurable fullness that stole the air from your lungs. There was a brief moment of pain that thankfully gave way to a heavy, pleasurable sensation. He paused, his forehead resting against yours, breathing ragged.
"Okay?" His voice was tight.
"Move," you commanded, digging your heels into his lower back. "Just move. Please."
You didn't need to tell him twice. The rhythm he started was slow and deliberate, dragging his hips back before sinking deep again - stealing the breath from your lungs with every stroke. It was maddening. And perfect.
"You feel incredible.” He groaned, his face buried in your neck.
"You're just saying that because you're inside me," you teased, though your voice was breathless and trembling.
"I'm saying it because it's true." He lifted his head, his eyes locking onto yours. It made the scenario that much more intimate.
“Bet you say that to all the girls.”
"I - fuck, sweetheart. You're so w-"
You covered his mouth with your hand. "Don’t ruin the moment with something gross, Munson.”
“Why, got something against me being happy you’re soaked for me?”
“Ew.” He hit a spot inside of you that made stars burst in the corner of your vision. “I’m always s- nevermind.”
He stilled, his eyes widening slightly as he caught your heat-of-the-moment slip. You glanced away.
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late." Eddie smirked, a wicked, arrogant tilt of his lips. "I'm never letting you forget that."
He picked up the pace, his movements becoming harder, faster. The bed frame was hitting the wall with a rhythmic thump. The sound was obscene in the quiet room. You met him thrust for thrust, the friction building a brand new coil of heat low in your belly.
Then, you felt it.
The cold, sharp bite of metal against your breastbone.
Eddie had braced his weight on one arm, bringing his other hand up to palm your breast. The heavy silver rings on his fingers were somehow freezing cold against your fever-hot skin. He squeezed, his fingers digging in, and the rings gently pinched your nipple, sending a shockwave of sensation straight to your core.
"Jesus fucking Christ," you gasped, your back arching off the bed. "Do that again."
"What? Oh." He did it again, slower this time, deliberately dragging the cold metal over the sensitive peak, closing it between the rings. "This?"
"Yes." You were practically panting now, your body thrumming with the contrast of temperatures. "Your rings… They're cold."
"Mhmm. I know," he murmured, watching your face intently. "You like it?"
"I love it." You reached up, grabbing his wrist to hold his hand against your chest. "D-don't stop."
"Wasn't planning on it." He leaned down, taking your other nipple into his mouth, his tongue and teeth hot while his fingers continued their torture on the other side.
The dual sensations - the heat of his mouth, the cold of the rings - was delicious. You cried out, your hips bucking up to meet his, desperate for more friction, more depth. Just more of him.
"Damn, you're so responsive," he groaned, releasing your nipple with a pop. "I love how you react to me."
"I'm reacting to physics." You managed, though it came out as a breathless moan. "Thermodynamics.”
“Babe, you’re so sexy when you’re sayin’ big words I don’t know.”
“It - It’s h-hot and cold -”
"Shut up," he laughed, his rhythm faltering slightly. "You're ruining the moment."
"You love it." You tightened your legs around his waist, grinding against him, feeling the brush of his pubic bone against your clit with every thrust. "You love that I talk back."
"I do," he admitted huskily. "I love that you're stubborn and difficult. And that you're close. I can feel it."
He was right. The pressure was building again, insistent and overwhelming. You could feel the hot wave creeping up on you, threatening to shatter you for the second time that evening.
"Eddie," you gasped, your fingers clawing at his shoulders. "I need -”
"I've got you, sweetheart."He shifted his weight, bringing his hand between your bodies. He found the apex of your center, his rings hitting the bundle of nerves just as his thrusts became punishingly deep.
You saw white. The combination of the varying sensations and deep friction was your undoing. A cry that was half his name, half a sob fell from your lips, your body shaking with the force of it. You felt him tense above you, his rhythm breaking as he followed you over the edge. He buried his face in your neck with a guttural moan.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was your combined breathing, ragged and loud. The air smelled of sex and sweat and clove cigarettes. It was somehow just right.
Eddie collapsed beside you, flinging an arm over your midsection. You turned and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, fingers tracing the ridges of his spine.
"Okay," you breathed. Eddie turned his head to press a kiss to your shoulder. "I take it back."
"Take what back?"
"I called you adequate earlier" You murmured. "And that… That was definitely not adequate.”
Eddie gave a weak laugh. "No. It wasn't."
“It far exceeded my expectations, thank you Mr. Munson.” You grabbed his hand and shook it as though you were brokering a business deal. “Much appreciated.”
Eddie lifted his head, grinning down at you, his hair a wild halo around his face. "I think we might need to double check my adequacy at some point. Just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke. You know. For science."
"I think science can wait," you said curling into his side, resting your head on his chest. "I'm exhausted. "
He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer, his hand stroking your hair. "Me too."
You lay there in the quiet, listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the steady thump of his heart. It was comfortable. Right, even.
"Eddie?"
"Yeah?"
"You still owe me a grilled cheese."
He groaned, dropping a kiss onto the top of your head. "Go to sleep."