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Your lips, a magic world (your sky, all hung with jewels)
If you had told Chrissy Cunningham that she would have started her morning with the same sad little slice of grapefruit and the same sad little bowl of cottage cheese her mother put in front of her every single morning (and has ever since her weight had the audacity to climb into the triple digits), and ended it sitting on the floor of Eddie Munson’s trailer staring at a plate full of greasy pepperoni pizza…
“Are you high?” would absolutely have been her first question. Of course, the answer to that question is also currently yes, so in terms of reality, who knows at this point. Chrissy certainly doesn’t.
“Chrissy, babe — you gonna eat it or mind-meld with it?”
Chrissy startles, an apology and one of her usual mealtime excuses already on the tip of her tongue, but when she looks up to see Eddie on the couch, staring at her so intently, noticing her, the only thing she can blurt out is the truth. For whatever reason, lying to Eddie seems ridiculous considering the positions he’d had her in only an hour or so ago. “I’m not — I’m not supposed to eat stuff like this.”
“You’re not allowed to eat pizza?” Steve has raised his head from its place in Eddie’s lap to arch a disbelieving eyebrow in her direction. “Chrissy, this is America. Pizza is your constitutional right. Which, speaking of—” he trails off to jab Eddie pointedly in the stomach and opens his mouth. “Bite.”
“Do you need it hand-fed to you like this asshole?” Eddie asks, tugging teasingly on Steve’s ear. Chrissy notes that while he might be rolling his eyes as he does it, he’s got this ridiculous smile on his face as he offers Steve his slice of pizza and a swig of beer.
“Hey – I’m the one you fucked stupid, so you only have yourself to blame.”
“You’re a brat, Harrington.”
Steve shrugs and makes grabby hands for Eddie’s beer again. Eddie sighs dramatically, but hands it over, of course. “I am as you made me, Munson.”
Chrissy wonders if she’s ever had a smile like that on her face with Jason.
She doesn’t think so.
Pizza, Chrissy? A minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips. Is that really worth it, Chrissy? Is it?
“No — no, I just. My mom, she made me this – this dress for graduation, and if I don’t fit in it, she’s going to be so mad and —” and she doesn’t mean to start panicking, but just the thought of what her mother would do if she had to let that dress out again makes her blood run cold.
And Chrissy kind of hates herself for that, too. Because she’d ruined it already. That warm, floaty feeling she’s been riding since — well, since all of this — and now all she can think about is her mother.
“Well, not to be rude –” Eddie starts.
“Yeah, that would be so unlike you, Eds,” Steve offers, winking in Chrissy’s direction.
“You’re fucking hilarious. You’re lucky you’re cute,” Eddie says, flicking Steve lightly on the forehead and following the gesture with a soft kiss. “But as I was saying. Chrissy, your mom sounds like a real bitch.”
Eddie says it so casually but with so much venom that Chrissy can’t help it. She laughs out loud, not even one of those soft, cutesy, lady-like laughs she’s spent so much time practicing. An actual cackle. So loud and shrill that she actually covers her mouth, shocked and slightly mortified. “I’m s—”
“Chrissy Cunningham, if the next words out of your mouth are ‘I’m sorry,’ we might have a problem.”
Something about the way Eddie is looking at her as he says this, it’s enough to steal her breath away. It’s that same dark, hungry look as earlier. It was that look that sort of led to her on her back with Steve Harrington between her legs, after all. It’s the memory of that, and innate curiosity that leads her to ask. “What kind of problem?”
“Eddie,” Steve murmurs, reaching up to stroke Eddie’s face, almost chidingly, “be nice.”
“I’m being perfectly nice,” Eddie says, “I’m just saying, baby. I broke you of that nasty habit. I can do it for her.”
“What habit?” Chrissy asks, squirming slightly because Eddie’s still fixing her with a stare she definitely doesn’t hate. It feels like being under a microscope but not in a bad way, whatever that means. She must still be stoned. She must.
“Apologizing for existing,” Eddie says, taking another long pull of his beer before leaning back against the couch, arms crossed leisurely behind his head.
Chrissy doesn’t think she’s ever been as relaxed as Eddie Munson looks right now. Save for a few hours ago — that had been pretty close, she thinks, feeling heat creep up the back of her neck at the memory
“I don’t —” Chrissy starts, blinking dumbly as the words finally register. She hadn’t ever really thought about it like that. In such simple terms. Because — because Eddie’s right. That’s exactly what she’s doing. That’s what she’s spent every day of the last eighteen years doing, after all.
Apologizing for taking up space.
She must have the mother of all frowns on her face, because Steve has sat up now, wearing that pinched sort of concerned dad look she doesn’t think a nineteen-year-old boy should really be able to make so easily, but it’s there. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to tell us shit, you know. Eddie’s just talking out his ass, anyway —”
Eddie nods. “Yeah, babe, I do enjoy the sound of my own voice, so don’t—”
Chrissy shakes her head. “No, no, you’re right.” The fact that Jason and her have been together since they were fourteen and never called her on it, while Eddie “The Freak” Munson had her number in, like, three hours…it was sort of upending her entire universe.
Universe and her mother be damned.
Chrissy picks up the slice of pizza in front of her and takes the biggest bite she dares without risk of choking to death.
She doesn’t think food has ever tasted so good.
…
Watching Chrissy Cunningham eating a slice of pizza probably shouldn’t be as erotic as Eddie’s finding it right now, but he is a freak after all. And it was more to do with the expression on her face, not dissimilar to the one he’d gotten the intense privilege to witness once already (twice, technically, he remembers with a fond grin): pleasure. Plus, when she’d finished, wiping her mouth and her hands so primly with a napkin, she’d made this cute little satisfied noise that had only made him wonder how he could get her to make it in an entirely different scenario.
“Oh my god, dude,” Steve says, groaning, “do you seriously have a boner right now? We’re eating!”
Chrissy’s eyes widen, darting to Eddie’s lap, then Steve’s face, before erupting in giggles. Steve, of course, takes the time to be ever-so-helpful, wiggling in his lap just enough to earn him a slightly pained grunt from Eddie.
“She looks done to me,” Eddie says toothily, crossing his arms in mock indignation. “And sue me. I’m a simple guy. I’ve got beer, a full stomach, and two half-naked hotties in front of me.”
“Hotties?” Chrissy asks, that pretty blush on her cheeks again. “I’m not — I mean…cute, maybe—”
“Um, yeah. Hotties,” Eddie repeats, cutting her off. “And I would know since I seem to have a penchant for the preppy ones with secret hearts of gold,” he adds, making one of his sweeping, over-the-top gestures in both of their directions and grinning wolfishly.
Steve blanches, but he’s getting that slight far-off look in his eyes that he gets, the one where Eddie knows it won’t take much more to get his engines running. Which Eddie definitely isn’t going to take advantage of. Not at all, he thinks, burying his free hand in Steve’s hair to subtly drag his nails over the younger boy’s scalp.
Steve shivers just enough for Eddie to notice. Maybe Chrissy too, because Chrissy’s watching them again. But she’s doing that shy thing where she’s trying not to — or at least acting like she’s trying not to. It’s adorable, is what it is.
And Steve, it’s like he can read Eddie’s mind, and his stomach twists in anticipation. “I don’t think she believes you, Eds.”
“You know, Stevie. I think you’re right,” says Eddie, “ — maybe we oughta convince her?” he finishes, both of them watching Chrissy with open curiosity, just to see what she’ll do, what she’ll say. “What d’you say, Princess?” Eddie asks, feeling only a little bit smug when Chrissy’s eyes get glassy and wide and her lips part just enough for him to see a flash of bubblegum pink tongue. “Hungry for seconds?”
“That was bad even for you, Eds,” Steve says, but Eddie can practically see the younger boy’s mouth watering.
Hypocrite.
“You’re freaks. Both of you,” Chrissy says with a slightly nervous-sounding chuckle under her breath.
Eddie laughs too. It’s not like she’s wrong, and he knows she doesn’t mean it the same way it sounds when her dick boyfriend says it. Like a curse word. And not one of the fun ones. Still, there’s that look on her face, that way her teeth are worrying at her bottom lip. “That’s not an answer, Princess.”
If the way that tell-tale flush seems to be spreading fast all the way down to her chest, Eddie thinks he has some idea.
…
Chrissy can’t even blame the weed anymore. Not that she really had, the first time. It’s just her, it’s just… want. She came to Eddie’s trailer because she wanted to. Kissed Steve because she wanted to. Shoved that slice of pizza in her mouth…because she wanted to. And now…
Now she’s sitting in Eddie Munson’s lap, practically riding his thigh, chasing another high altogether…because god, she really, really, really fucking wanted to. It’s a feeling she never knew she was missing, and now that she’s gotten it —how the hell is she supposed to just let it go? Go back to Jason’s clumsy hands and shallow, sickeningly sweet compliments.
Nothing at all like the way Eddie and Steve whisper good girl, good girl, that’s it, princess, with every desperate roll of her hips.
With the knowledge that he never managed, or seemed to even care to try to get her off. It’s just not the same for girls, honey.
“I don’t remember saying you could stop, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, and then she’s brought crashing back to reality by teeth nipping harsh enough at her earlobe to make her yelp. Steve’s fingers are curled around her ponytail, and he adds his own sharp yank like an afterthought.
She didn’t ever think that something that hurt like that could feel so good at the same time, send that lightning pulse straight down to where she’s been throbbing, aching, needing for what feels like an eternity now. Eddie won’t touch her. Not the way she’s been dying to beg him to. Instead, he’d stripped her bare all the way to her panties (they were just the same plain white ones she always wore, the only ones her mother would ever allow her to have, but from the way both boys had groaned the first time they’d seen them under her skirt, maybe they were sexier than she thought), kissed her everywhere except where she wanted him to. Her mouth, her breasts, her pussy.
Eddie’s hands are anchored to her hips, the metal rings digging in just enough to pull a whine from her throat when he flexes them. Every so often, he breaks away from mouthing at her skin to grab Steve by the throat, hold him in place for a sloppy, bruising kiss (a sight that had nearly broken Chrissy’s brain and made her wonder just what it would feel like for him to do the same to her, which if that wasn’t a sign that she’s completely lost it, well. What is?).
“Is it — is it like this all the time?” Chrissy manages to say, voice cracking slightly when Eddie pushes his thigh up against her as she continues grinding down, desperate for the right amount of friction against that bundle of nerves.
“Mmhmmm,” Steve mumbles, nuzzling into her shoulder, reaching a hand between them to grip Eddie’s cock straining against his half-open zipper. Eddie hisses, his grip tightening around Chrissy’s waist. It’s a strange, kind of perfect rhythm between them. Steve jerking Eddie off with steady strokes in time with the stuttering thrusts of Chrissy’s hips, Eddie licking into each of their mouths like he’s trying to steal their breath for himself. “S’even better with you.”
It feels like someone is squeezing her heart so tightly it might pop. And part of her wants to know what might happen if it does.
A not small part.
And it’s said so quietly that Chrissy isn’t even sure she heard him right until Eddie licks up the side of her jaw and whispers, “He’s not lyin’, princess. You’re somethin’ else. Shit, you two are so fucking perfect. So fucking gorgeous. Fuck —” Eddie hisses. “Gonna fucking kill me —”
“If you die before I come,” Chrissy whines, “I might kill you myself.” She’s barely aware of saying it, she’s so close, and she just needs, and she can’t even bring herself to be embarrassed when she hears both of the boys laughing at her. With her? Does it matter at this point?
“Better watch out, Eds. I think she means business,” Steve mutters, sucking a bruise into Eddie’s shoulder where his shirt has slipped.
“Stevie, I think she needs your help, baby —” Eddie huffs out another chuckle, “why don’t you give the princess a hand?”
Chrissy’s eyes are squeezed shut at this point, so she gasps in surprise when she feels a huge palm slide down her belly, past the elastic of her ruined panties to cup her where she’s drenched, swollen. Dripping. She’s so wet, slippery, that it takes a second for Steve to be able to curl his fingers inside her. But then he’s there, and Eddie’s close too — she can tell from the way his chest is heaving in time with hers. The way he’s mostly gone silent — no more cocky commands. Just moans, the occasional half-formed blasphemy pressed into the skin between her breasts.
“Oh fuck —”
That’s Eddie, Chrissy thinks, and she moans when she feels him shoot between them, hot and messy, into Steve’s fist. There’s that coiling in her belly, that ache climbing up, up until it blooms just at the base of her spine and she’s there. Lost. Gone completely. Shattered.
By the time the world comes back into focus, it takes her far too long to realize that they’re back in Eddie’s bedroom — on the bed this time— she remembers staring up at that ceiling the first time. It’s strangely comforting to see it again so soon.
“Christ, you’re as bad as Harrington. Totally useless after you get your rocks off.”
That’s Eddie’s voice, she thinks, low and raspy. And when Chrissy manages to muster the strength to roll over onto her side, Eddie shifts, curls up against her back, Steve on the other side of her, she notes, with a leg slung haphazardly over hers.
Asleep, if the snoring is anything to judge by.
“Oh — did you — did you carry me in here?” Chrissy whispers.
Eddie grins — she can feel his teeth pressed into the back of her neck. “What, like it’s hard? Princess, you can’t be more than a buck soaking wet.”
“Still, I’m s—” she starts to say, but stops herself.
“Good girl,” Eddie mumbles sleepily, looping an arm around her waist to pull her close. “We’ll get there.”
She’s thankful it’s dark. She doesn’t even want to know how red her face is currently. “What’s that mean?”
Eddie just hums, nuzzling further into her hair.
“Stick around and find out, Chrissy Cunningham.”