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The snow's coming down hard, Eddie's been watching it swirl against the windshield. Not the light flurries they'd forecast but big beefy snowflakes that are piling up fast on the sides of the road. Judging by the sky, it doesn't look like it's stopping any time soon.
She can tell that Stevie's watching it too, eyebrows pulled together as she drives.
"It wasn't supposed to be this heavy," Stevie complains. As if she'd heard Eddie thinking the same thing. She's right though, it wasn't supposed to be this heavy, 'flurries' someone had said on the news. Which was snowglobe snow; not whatever this was.
Eddie's boots are jiggling in the footwell, where they've been since Stevie smacked them off the dashboard, complaining that 'your knees would go straight through your face if we crashed.' Which she'd been trying really hard not to visualize since she said it.
"Maybe we should have stopped at that motel?" Eddie offers.
"We're only a couple of hours from home." Stevie's voice is carrying more determination than reassurance.
"I think you said that two hours ago," Eddie points out, which...she's mostly joking but they're not exactly making time anymore. The oncoming rush of snow has turned into a dizzying vortex. Any faster and Stevie's going to be hypnotized at the wheel, any slower and they're going to end up lodging into a snowbank in slow-motion. Being careful has been eating up time and there's no hiding the fact that it's going to be dark soon.
"Shit."
Eddie knows that face, it's Stevie's 'I know you're right but I don't want to admit it,' face.
It's too late to turn around now though. The motel's too far back and the snow's piling up fast. The heating inside the car is doing its job well enough but Eddie's going to be fucked if they have to walk anywhere. She's only wearing a leather jacket, and the green and white striped scarf that Stevie forced on her by wrapping it around her neck with a determined expression, ignoring her mock choking noises. Stevie, of course, was prepared for the sudden snowstorm and looks adorable in her white sweater, yellow parker and cute little snow boots. She has earmuffs instead of a hat, which are currently resting on the back seat and they'd look ridiculous on anyone else but of course Stevie Harrington could pull them off.
The car makes an unhappy noise and Stevie glares at it, daring it to cause more problems for them. They'd taken the beemer rather than Eddie's van because it was supposed to snow. Stevie had protested that it was more reliable, more comfortable, and had better heating. Which may all be true, but what Eddie did have...what Eddie did have in the back of her van, was a roll-out mattress, four blankets, weed and emergency snacks.
Which is looking more and more appealing as the snow builds up, the oncoming rush of it all but smearing out the windshield now.
"We're not going to be able to drive in this much longer." Eddie hates to be the voice of reason here, that's usually Stevie's job, but watching her hands white-knuckle around the wheel as she concentrates on squinting into the patches of fading light between what are now giant flakes...well, she doesn't really have a choice but to be the sensible one for once
"Fuck." This time Stevie's not too proud to let full agreement into the word.
"Is there nowhere on this road to stop and wait it out?"
"I think there are a few cabins somewhere along the route." She doesn't sound as certain as Eddie would like.
"Any near the road?" Near the road would be helpful, it's the only thing they can still see. Though she's worried that even that's not going to be true for long.
"I don't know, I haven't driven this way for a while." Stevie's biting her lip as she frowns through the windshield.
"Well I don't know about you but I can't see shit," Eddie plants her knee on the door, wiping condensation from the window with the side of her hand, "and if you have to stare at the damn snow vortex much longer your brain's going to raise the white flag and force you to stop with a migraine."
"Yeah." Judging by the way Stevie's already gritting her teeth the surrender is already up.
"You should have said something. You want me to take over?"
"It's not going to help much, the road's going to be useless before we get halfway to Hawkins. You'll have no idea where the road even is anymore."
She's not wrong, and there's no way they're going to be able to pass the night in the car, snow piling up all around them, heat probably gone long before morning when the battery dies.
"Fuck it." Eddie winds the window down, getting an oncoming rush of snow to the face, which she immediately scowls at and pulls her hair in close enough to avoid the sting. They're miles from anywhere and they can't afford to be picky, so anything with four walls will do at this point. "Ok, nothing, nothing, lot of trees, nothing– oh shit, cabin! Slow down and get ready to turn into a small snowbank."
"Eddie!"
Eddie waves across the car, fingers patting on Stevie's shoulder and then gripping hard.
"Ok, now, slow turn."
Stevie clearly trusts her enough to slowly turn in, but is obviously relieved when they don't end up in a ditch or a mound of snow. Eddie gives a quick slap-slap against the material of her jacket.
"Atta-girl!"
'Cabin' turns out to be a generous description. The building is small and wooden and looks more like some sort of ranger station. It's also cold as balls and outfitted with only one quilted throw and an extra blanket on what might generously be called a camp bed.
"Eh, I've slept in worse places," Eddie says, tucking her fingers as deep into her armpits as she can manage. The leather's barely even warm under there. "It's better than the car."
"Only because we can't run the heat all night," Stevie points out, stamping snow and slush off her boots, the little pom-poms jiggling.
Eddie searches the tiny kitchenette for snacks and comes out with some mysterious jerky, that she decides can wait until it's either eat that or eat each other, some miscellaneous tins (which do not bring up great memories for her,) and a large bag of off-brand chips, which she immediately opens and offers over to Stevie. She shakes her head, arms still crossed to hold in as much warmth as possible, the cascade of her hair tumbling over one side of her face like she'd just bounced out of a shampoo commercial on some beach somewhere and not out of a four hour car ride wearing natural fibers and submitting to recycled air.
Eddie doesn't know how she does it. Even when she's miserable, Stevie looks warm and touchable. The lure to do exactly that is pretty much a constant, so she shoves a handful of chips in her mouth in self-defense.
"There wasn't supposed to be a snowstorm," Stevie says, clearly annoyed. "It was supposed to be light to moderate snow all afternoon. The stuff's already three feet deep out there." She throws her hands up. "If I'd known I never would have tried to drive us back."
Eddie cuts her off before she can get a full head of guilty steam up.
"I know, I know, it's not your fault." She lifts the phone on the wall and holds it to her ear, gets a dial tone, and offers it over.
"You wanna call in and say we're gonna be late?"
Stevie sighs. "You think it's going to clear up by tomorrow?"
Fuck no, it's supposed to be freezing overnight with more snow forecast tomorrow. Eddie doesn't even have to say that, Stevie can see it on her face, in the flat grimace and the tense space between her eyebrows. She's never been good at hiding things.
All at once, Stevie's irritation seems to fade out, leaving something that looks a lot more guilty behind.
"I'm sorry we ended up in this mess."
Eddie hangs up the phone. "What are you talking about? You can do a lot of things Stevie but you're not in charge of the weather."
"I was the one who wanted to drive out today."
"Which would have been fine if we'd gotten the amount of snow they'd forecast. We'd be back in Hawkins by now, chilling out on your couch, enjoying the glorious heat of casa Harrington and your finest boozy hot chocolate. I am laying the blame solely on the weather and you should too."
"It doesn't change the fact that I chose to continue when it got bad, we could have stopped. We could be in a motel by now, having hot showers and drinks and crappy late-night TV, getting ready to head out tomorrow."
"Stop beating yourself up and have some of this delicious dried-out meat." Eddie waggles the jerky in her direction. Which is somewhat ruined by the fact that the jerky didn't want to be waggled, it was doing more of a limp-dick flop.
But Stevie's fighting a smile so it's worth it. "Is that all we have?"
Eddie peers into the chip bag that she'd all but emptied already.
"There are some cans of soup, and macaroni cheese, and something that might be pie in a can– which, I don't know about you but I'm going to wait until I'm really hungry to investigate further."
"In a can, really?" Stevie looks so dubious, as if Eddie has ever lied to her.
"I mean, don't get me wrong, I am all for supporting food with a long shelf life, but this might be a madness too far."
"Sweet or savory?" Stevie wonders.
Eddie squints at her. "Jury's still out."
Stevie takes the chair and Eddie takes the edge of the desk while they share the last of the chips between them, and then Stevie must say to hell with it, because she reaches over for the jerky and shoves half of it in her mouth.
Eddie watches her work at it for a couple of minutes. Honestly, she's impressed by her determination and teeth strength.
"How does it taste?" She's genuinely curious.
Stevie takes another minute to consider the question. She doesn't appear to be making much progress.
"It tastes," she says at last, with a shrug. "It's meat-flavored, and I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not. The texture is– did you ever make one of those baking soda volcanoes that spewed all over the table?"
"No, but I am familiar with them."
Stevie nods. "Feels like I'm eating a dried-out one of them."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Stevie pulls a face and then holds out a hand. "Give me another bit."
Eddie's laughing as she hands it over.
"Don't look at me like that. I was left home alone when I was barely ten, I have cooked and eaten worse things than this."
It's dark outside by the time they've finished taking stock of what they have, and Stevie uses the phone to tell Robin and the kids they're going to be late. They don't tell them they're stuck in a shitty cabin in the middle of nowhere, surrounded on all sides by impending snowbanks. Which is why Stevie gets to do the talking, because she can fake cheerful in a way Eddie could never. All she can see out the windows at this point is the edges of a few trees, and the constant onrush of snow. It's also getting colder. She can't help hiking her elbows up and her nose down, trying to keep some warmth inside her jacket and borrowed scarf.
Stevie must get sick of watching her because she nudges her off the desk.
"Here, you can wear my sweater under your jacket, mine's fairly warm all on its own."
"Stevie, I'm not taking your sweater." Eddie grits her teeth on the end of that so they don't chatter. She'd spent colder nights in the trailer than this. It'll be miserable but she's not going to die of it.
"This place is going to be buried in snow tomorrow and it's only going to get colder. Don't worry about me, you know I run hot."
Goddamn did Eddie know that. She's been fighting the urge to slink closer to Stevie and her warm, peach-scented limbs since the world came crashing down in a riot of winged demon bats.
"While you're basically a popsicle in boots."
Now that was kind of rude.
"Slander, I retain some heat."
"You retain no heat, come on." Stevie's already slipping her jacket off and wriggling her sweater up, the tank she's wearing underneath shuffling up her tanned abdomen in a way that gives Eddie a front row seat to the scatter of moles there and the baby blue edge of her lacy bra. One stretch is all it would take for a curve of underboob to slide its way into existence.
Eddie's brave enough to reach over and tug the sweater back down.
"Hey!"
"Swapping a sweater isn't going to do any good. I'll get colder undressing, and you'll lose heat faster. It'd be better to pack into that tiny excuse for a bedroom and huddle up with whatever blankets we can find."
Stevie stares at her for a minute, before sighing and putting her jacket back on.
"Do they not do any heavy metal approved parkas or anything?"
Eddie turns the phrase over in her head, fighting a smile.
"The thought has literally never occurred to me. Though 'my family owns a ski lodge in Aspen,' isn't exactly screaming rebellion, anti-conformity and unfettered chaos."
Stevie's expression is unimpressed. "Maybe not but it is screaming 'I'm not going to freeze my tits off,' Eddie."
Technically it's more 'tit' singular now, since the bats ate one of them, there's nothing but a faint swell and a creep of scar tissue there now, and the edge of a tattoo that used to curl under it like a balcony. Stevie always ends up looking sad when Eddie brings it up though. Eddie has mostly made peace with it. She didn't have all that much in the way of tits anyway and now she's thinking of buying one of those neat chest pieces that female archers wear. They probably do those in leather and she can always stitch or dye something cool onto the outside, maybe some teeth? Though that might be a bit too on the nose.
"Ugh, you have a point though." Stevie sweeps a hand through her hair, which bounces back into place so quickly Eddie still thinks it might be some sort of magic. Weirder things have happened to them after all.
Stevie opens the door to the small bedroom at the back, and it is small, only enough room for a dresser, nightstand, and the camp bed, a blanket and comforter folded neatly on top.
"Which do you want?" Eddie asks over her shoulder. She can't help briefly resting her chin there. Stevie always smells so good, some combination of perfume, lip gloss and whatever she puts in her hair to turn it into those little surf waves. Eddie had thought she had the queen of Hawkins all figured out for so long. But it turns out she'd known nothing. Stevie Harrington looks like a princess, runs like a track star, and she can swing a baseball bat fast and accurate enough to turn a monster into meat. She'll also bite her way through one to save her friends, and Eddie is long past trying to deny that she's horribly, horribly in love with her.
"I'll take the blanket," Stevie says with a nod. "I'm going to be warm enough for a while yet."
Eddie takes in the way her powdered nose and cheeks already look cold and wonders whether to call her on it. Eddie might not have the volume but she has more hair than Stevie. It's a frizzy mess of half curls, split ends and an attempt at bangs that she's honestly not sure if she pulled off, but, if absolutely necessary, she could probably wrap it twice around her face. If the worst comes to the worst she could wrap Stevie up like Rapunzel.
The comforter isn't actually a comforter but an unzipped sleeping bag. Eddie opens her mouth to suggest that Stevie take the thing and zip it up around her, but she knows by the way Stevie's considering the messy fold of it, hands on hips, serious face on lock, that she's going to suggest the same thing.
"Ok, so clearly you're going to be difficult about this," Stevie starts, and Eddie doesn't know whether to be flattered or annoyed at how well the other girl knows her.
"Me! You're the self-sacrificing one," Eddie accuses. As she's proven time and time again.
Stevie doesn't even bother to dispute it. "So we might as well not argue over it then."
"Right!"
"Maybe we could zip both of us in there?"
Eddie's already nodding in agreement before it registers what she's agreeing to and snorts to cover the breathy sound she's afraid she might make at the suggestion. Because, no, of course they wouldn't fit. There's no way Eddie could wriggle into that thing with Stevie. Especially not while she's wearing nothing but a cute matching lingerie set with her warm peachy skin and her bouncy hair and her smile and the way she would fold Eddie in her arms as a matter of duty and sacrifice. At least not without popping the biggest girl-boner in existence. She would literally be a mess of hormones and horny stuffed into that bag.
Jesus.
"How about if we both sit on the bed and try to wrap as much around ourselves as we can," Eddie suggests instead.
"What, pack it all around us like kids at a sleepover?"
Eddie shrugs. "I guess? I never had any friends to invite over."
Stevie looks guilty, which is stupid because it's not as if it's her fault that Eddie never had any friends growing up. She wasn't responsible for any of the shitty nicknames that kept people away either. Eddie has friends now, after they all stopped the world from ending together. She has the band, and she'll always have hellfire, no matter what Hawkins has to say about it.
"Ok, maybe we can push the bed against the wall and then pack our jackets behind us, wrap up under both the blanket and the sleeping bag?"
Eddie can see it, but she already knows it's going to let out far too much heat. The blankets aren't big enough to wrap around both of them unless Stevie wants to sit in her lap. She gets thoroughly distracted for a few minutes thinking about the logistics of Stevie in her lap and misses whatever she says next. She doesn't miss the way she's looking at Eddie hopefully, after what was probably a very rousing speech about how they're not going to freeze to death.
"Sorry, fuck, I was thinking about freezing to death." It's not a lie, it's not an absolute lie, there is a kernel of truth in there and sometimes that's enough.
"Eddie, I'm not going to let you freeze to death."
"I know." If Eddie knows anything it's that Stevie is going to save the day.
"I said that it's getting colder, and this place isn't insulated enough to protect us if the snow starts to pile up."
"Right," Eddie agrees, because that makes sense.
"So we're going to have to share each other's body heat," Stevie says slowly.
Eddie's nodding, because she assumes that Stevie had come to the same conclusion as her, that they'd have to get up under the blanket and the bag together, probably back to back? Now she's had a moment to get used to the idea Eddie thinks she could probably handle it if Stevie wanted to sit in her lap, arms around her in her fluffy sweater to keep warm, face in the curve of her neck, smelling the perfume and maybe the sharp scent of Stevie underneath. The way she'd smelled in the Upside-Down, holding half an oar, bleeding and staring out into the dark like she'd set her teeth in it before she'd let it hurt anyone she was with.
Eddie defied anyone not to fall in love with her in that moment. Fall in love with her, protect her with everything they had, want to bury their face between her legs and never come up for air. Normal things.
Hell, maybe she couldn't handle it?
"So you're ok with it?" Stevie asks, she clearly wants Eddie to say something.
Eddie brings her hands together in a sharp clap, shakes hair out of her face. "Yeah, of course, sounds good. Let's get this show on the road." She's aware that she's being way too enthusiastic for what is absolutely going to be up there with the most embarrassing moments of her life, she's sure. Something, something, go bravely into the jaws of death and all that.
Because Stevie is duty bound to save any and all asses in the vicinity, she's already working on packing the one sad, thin pillow into the corner, where the bed meets the wall. Then she's pulling off her coat and sweater and using them as some sort of insulation to go between the two halves of the blanket, which is bigger than the sleeping bag.
Eddie watches Stevie work in her tank top, arms flexing, a cocoon of warmth taking shape on the bed while Eddie just stands there uselessly. She's not sure her leather jacket is going to be much help but she takes it off anyway and offers it over, gets a smile for it that's so soft she's immediately upset that she doesn't have more items to take off– before belatedly realizing that she does, even if there is a fairly major problem with that.
Stevie already looks cold, for all that she's working hard, the hair is standing up on her arms and her nipples are obvious through her top, the hard little juts of them under tight-stretched fabric. Eddie's fingers itch and she forces her eyes up, making herself watch Stevie rub at her arms.
"I want to get as much insulation in here as we can and then try and contain our own heat inside. But we want to work quickly so we lose as little as possible." She's taking it deadly seriously, pulling off her fancy snow boots and then digging her hands inside them, as if to see whether the lining will come out. Eddie wants to remind her that they're not technically in the arctic, that they're probably not going to die in a cabin on the side of the road because it's ten below. But Stevie looks so earnest, hands now rubbing Eddie's arms over the cotton sleeves of her shirt. "Did you want to keep this on? I understand if you do."
Eddie tells herself fiercely not to look at Stevie's nipples.
"I'm not wearing a bra," she admits. It's not meant to be an excuse, just an explanation. She watches Stevie's eyes briefly drop to her chest, it's unlikely that she'll see anything, the shirt is black and Eddie's last remaining boob is mostly a nipple and a dream. But the fact that Stevie looks anyway, the slightest tip down of her eyes to where Eddie's shirt is probably loose enough to hide everything. The fact that she looks at all, her determined face warming with a faint wash of color, there's really not much there to get excited about, but the thought is nice.
"I can get in the back," Stevie says. "Sit behind you. We can try and stay warm inside all the padded material."
It's a good plan and Eddie can't argue with it. Stevie even makes sure they both use the small bathroom so no one has to leave their emergency heat source tent in the middle of the night to pee and immediately freezes solid.
She's watching Stevie take off her leggings, which are cute but not very thick, and her tank, leaving her bouncy and exposed, the pink shape of her nipples through her bra standing peaked beneath the fabric. Eddie takes off her jeans in solidarity, the wallet chain now freezing as it hits the floor with a clatter. She's wearing men's boxers, and there are two tattoos on display that were done early and cheap that she's working on getting the money to cover. She feels messy and unimpressive next to Stevie, who is sporty and strong and really stupidly pretty in her underwear set, moles scattered everywhere lace isn't. Her thighs are completely bare, the soft curves of her butt escaping the edges of her panties when she turns and bends to shake out the sleeping bag, wrapping it around the padded blanket she's made and encouraging Eddie under it with her.
She tries, she really tries to be normal as Stevie's long, smooth legs rasp against hers, which she hasn't bothered to shave since a moment of madness in '81, because who the fuck would even care, and it honestly seemed like too much work to have to keep doing. She's aware of it now, of how obvious the dark hair is along her thighs and shins. The one consolation is that she thinks she has good legs, she does a lot of walking, a lot of bouncing and foot tapping when she's with the band. She has leg muscles somewhere there. That probably counts for something. She tries to hold that thought when Stevie squirms closer and her thighs nudge against her own, still warm and smooth and she tells herself fiercely to stop thinking about her hands on them,
"Eddie, can I?" There are chilly hands on her bare wrists and she's grunting permission for who knows what.
It turns out to be Stevie pulling her in and wrapping arms around her, pushing one of those amazon warrior legs between hers, all silky and strong. Eddie's staring at the wall, where there's a calendar that's still turned to June, showing a woman on a beach wearing a bikini, and she tries not to take that personally. Stevie buries her face in Eddie's hair, the breath she pulls in slow, as if she's trying to find out what she smells like, and Eddie is fucked, she's so fucked. She can feel the way her thighs want to tighten around their prize, the way her cunt is suddenly silky warm in a way that's going to make her boxers damp. She's never been this close to a girl before, the easy way Stevie holds her is so similar to something she's imagined in her bed at night. She may actually die here.
Stevie's breath gusts across the side of her neck, flaring into the open collar of the shirt she's still wearing.
"You warm enough, Eddie?"
"Yeah, uh huh, this is great." It's probably a lie, they're both shivering from the fact that the small ranger cabin feels like an icebox, and Stevie's hands, which are trying to rub some feeling into her arms, are still frigid. Eddie bets her nipples, in their lacy blue bra, are stiff against her back, achy points of cold that she wants to warm with her mouth, and listen to the noises she'd make. Good ones she hopes.
Instead, she buries her face in the musty, horrible fabric of the camp bed. Stevie is trying her best to keep them warm for the night, squeezing her gently as a reassuring sharing of her warmth and instead of appreciating that Eddie is thinking about her naked, about the way she smells and the way her skin feels, and the slow shifting twitch of her thigh between Eddie's.
Stevie is the best girl she's ever met and Eddie is a terrible friend.
It gets colder, the sounds from outside strangely muted, Stevie was right about the snow piling up. How high are cabin windows anyway? Eddie doesn't know. The odds of them getting buried seems fairly slim, but not being able to open the door tomorrow is a strong possibility. They'd have to wait however long it takes for the plow to come this way so they can get a ride. Stevie's poor car is probably going to have to be dug out and thawed before they can use it again.
Technically this time it hadn't been Eddie's fault but that doesn't stop her from feeling like it is. A lot of things have been Eddie's fault. She could at least be useful now.
"Ok, roll over, my turn," she grumbles, because it's been hours and Stevie's back is probably cold.
"Eddie you don't have to–"
"We take turns, mountain rules, right?"
There's a thin huff of laughter, even if it does come out with a shiver when the blankets slip down, and then Stevie's shuffling around in the bed, the movement briefly letting in wafts of frigid air that have Eddie hissing through her teeth. But eventually she has one long arm looped around Stevie's body, face in her bouncy, peach-smelling hair, legs tucked in behind her own and she listens to the sound Stevie makes when she presses close. She's not sure where to put her hand, until Stevie pulls it down to rest on her stomach, which is just as soft, silky-warm from her own body heat. Her smallest finger skates the dip of her navel, falling inside in a way that feels weirdly intimate.
The blanket cocoon smells more of Stevie than her, Eddie's cheap deodorant, chips and cigarettes drowned out by all Stevie's perfumes and creams and powders, and thank God for that because the cozy space they'd made together smells clean and sweet.
She tucks her face into Stevie's neck, feeling the chill against her back, and ass, and feet, and wonders if they'll ever be able to get any sleep.
It takes a second for the tiny movements to register, a shifting nudge that might be Stevie trying to tuck her socked toes back under the blankets. Eddie can't look down enough to see.
"Are you ok, Stevie, you got enough blanket?"
Stevie exhales. "Uh huh, yeah, I'm good."
Eddie attempts to squirm a little closer, which she's fairly sure is impossible at this point but she's determined to keep Stevie warm. It ends up with one of her legs between Stevie's thighs, squished tight where she's warm and strong and she tells herself sharply to keep it together.
Stevie makes another noise, a quiet sort of catch in her breath. Eddie pulls her in tight, assuming she's cold.
"We just have to stay warm enough 'til morning, princess," she hums and hopes to God that comes out sounding like a tease and not an endearment. Her stupid crush is far less important than keeping the heat in so she leans back far enough to strip her shirt over her head, tucking the spread of fabric into the space where the freezing air is creeping in. Then she cuddles in tight, thigh slotted between one of Stevie's, nipple pressed to her bare skin, and her lacy bra, and the tickling trails of her hair. She decides that this might be the most heroic thing she's done in her life.
"Eddie?" Stevie's fingers tighten on her wrist, breath shuddery with cold.
"Yeah?" Eddie tucks her face deeper, nose pressed to the skin so she doesn't do something stupid like kiss the softness of it.
"I think it's my turn again."
Eddie grunts a protest. "It's barely been an hour."
"It's been almost two."
"How do you even know that?"
Stevie huffs a laugh, which shakes her body enough for Eddie to feel it down to her toes.
"There's a clock on the wall."
So there is.
Stevie doesn't even give her time to protest, she's already squirming round in the blankets, wafting cold air through their small nest in a way that makes them both groan complaint. Only Eddie forgets to turn and suddenly she has Stevie in her arms, right up close, all sleepy eyes and lips and strong jaw, and the scatter of moles that she sometimes tries to cover with make-up; in a way that makes Eddie want to bite her own fingers off in despair, because they're beautiful and she would die for them. She's trying to ignore the blue lace and the slow-shifting rise of Stevie's breasts, and how warm she is, and what the dip of her waist feels like under her hand, the first curve of her ribs under a thumb. Or the way her hair falls across her face. Or the way her eyes are sliding between Eddie's eyes and her mouth.
It's like Stevie doesn't know what she does to her.
"Should have packed thermal underwear," Stevie says with a laugh.
"Hard to get lucky in," Eddie points out, not that she would know.
"What? You don't think I could pull off a sexy longjohn aesthetic?"
Eddie can't help picturing it. Stevie in some photoshoot for a magazine, sprawled out in front of a roaring fire in ribbed fabric from neck to toes, and can't help laughing, a brief wash of warm air between them both.
"Well you pulled off 'covered in demobat guts and bleeding from an abdominal wound.'" It's probably too much of a confession but to hell with it.
"I did make that work for me, didn't I?" Stevie's smiling at her in the dark, no one has ever smiled at Eddie like Stevie does.
She nods, because they're teasing and she doesn't have to lie.
"Oh yeah, I was blown away, ride or die for life right there. Ellen Ripley eat your heart out." She thinks she might have fallen in love right then and there. When Stevie dove into another dimension wearing only a sports bra and dirty sweatpants, with her ex and her best friend and some girl she'd never said two words to. Saved her life then and kept saving it ever since.
And it's so hard not to just–
Her thoughts scatter, because Stevie's hands are suddenly on her face, tipping it down into the warmth of the blankets, and her perfect mouth, lipgloss long rubbed off, is suddenly pressed to Eddie's. It's a shock of soft and full and pouty and sweet and...oh God, Stevie is kissing her.
Stevie is kissing her.
She barely has time to swallow air and try to kiss her back before Stevie's pulling away, smiling a little nervously at what Eddie knows must be the stupidest expression she's ever worn.
"I know one way to warm us up." It's rushed out like a secret between them. "If you wanted to? I mean, I know it's normally done at a slumber party, fooling around with friends after dark." Stevie laughs, a breathless thing which Eddie thinks might actually kill her. Because she has never been to a slumber party, and she would never have dared– "But it's really cold and this is the one thing I know that's guaranteed to kick up a bit more body heat." Her eyes move over Eddie's face, teasing, and then a little more hesitant when she doesn't say anything. When she just stares at Stevie's hazel eyes, and the wet shape of her mouth. "It's fine if you don't want to, all you have to do is say no and I promise I won't bring it up again."
But she can't say anything, because Eddie feels like she's been left up river somewhere, Stevie and her softly worded suggestions and wet kisses floating downstream.
Just a little fooling around, she says, with her perfect breasts plumped up between her arms and Eddie's single nipple pressing hot and hard to the warmth of her skin, and her lovely pout of a mouth that Eddie had kissed, and the muscle of her thigh still tucked between her own.
Eddie can tell Stevie's waiting for her to answer.
She wants to ask her if she hit her head getting out of the car. She wants to ask if the jerky poisoned her somehow. She wants to ask who else, which other girls got to hold Stevie's perfect face in their hands and kiss her mouth. She wants to beg and she hates that most of all.
Eddie wants to touch her so badly it hurts.
"Eddie?" There's a thread of uncertainty to Stevie's voice now.
Eddie can't actually bear the thought of Stevie thinking she doesn't want her. She's squirming forward, kissing her mouth that's halfway to a frown, fingers daring to crush the waves of her hair, which are cold and silky and lovely. Stevie makes a muffled noise under her enthusiasm, which Eddie worries briefly is far too much for what was only the most teasing of suggestions and not actually a plea for Eddie to all but devour her under the blankets. But then Stevie's hands are on her waist, tugging her in where there isn't any more space to be pulled and her pretty painted nails dig into the skin. Eddie discovers that she likes that too. She likes the kisses most of all though, Stevie's mouth coaxing her own open.
"Yeah?" Stevie murmurs against her mouth, sounding excited and weirdly shy for someone who apparently does this all the time. Something which Eddie still doesn't even know how to feel about.
"Yeah, yeah," Eddie huffs back, sounding far too desperate, she's certain about that. If this is a one-time thing she thinks it's going to kill her. But the alternative is saying no, saying no because her heart will not take any of this and survive Stevie just being her friend after. But that's a problem for tomorrow's Eddie, and she should know better by now.
"We could maybe do more than just warm each other up." Stevie reaches up and catches Eddie's hands, draws them down to rest on her stomach.
"You try that line with all the girls?" Eddie teases, because if this is happening she's going to go all in.
"Only the pretty ones," Stevie breathes, like she means it.
"Uh huh." Eddie's a little dubious of that, because she knows she's an acquired taste at the best of times, and what she is at the worst of times is unrepeatable in polite company.
"Don't uh huh me, do you have any idea..." Stevie threads fingers through Eddie's hair, dragging it all forward until it tickles her bare chest.. "You with your eyes like you should be haunting a mansion, and your smile, and your tattoos, and your hair that grows like a weed that you barely need to do anything with–"
"Not sure if two of those are actually compliments." Eddie's hair will do nothing, she's tried, she's felt the disappointing humiliation of the perm that went wrong. "Stevie, I've seen you first thing in the morning, before your hair has even seen a brush." She squirms closer, on the off-chance that Stevie will let her kiss her again. She's half worried that moment was a hallucination and this has turned into some weird girl-talk moment instead. Which always has the feeling of a test she didn't study for.
She's about to say something else when Stevie's hand slides cool up her rib cage, slowing when it reaches the barely-there curve of her one remaining breast.
"Can I?" she asks simply.
Eddie's next breath stutters in her throat but somehow comes out as a sound of agreement and then Stevie is touching her, a slide of long fingers and the gentle swipe of a thumb across her nipple. The shock of being touched– of being touched like that, a gentle sort of exploration, Stevie's lower lip caught between her teeth. All Eddie can do is feel it, an inhale catching in her throat as she pushes up into it.
"What do you like?" Stevie asks.
Eddie doesn't know, she doesn't know because no one has ever touched her before, and all she wants right now is Stevie's long, tanned hand moving on her. She wants so much more of the way it curves and gently squeezes. She doesn't know how to say all that though, finds herself humming out a breathy, "yeah."
Which doesn't answer the question but it does make Stevie smile, which is better.
"You can do whatever you want," she decides at last. Because that might be the best her mouth is going to do right now.
Stevie looks a question at her. Which Eddie can't quite puzzle out, because now she has her nipple between thumb and first finger, gently rolling and squeezing it. She can feel the way every second of that touch has a throb growing between her legs, the soft-wet feel of herself against the boxers she'd pulled on this morning. She'd gotten dressed this morning safe in the knowledge that no one was going to look at the funny checker print underwear, or see the raspy dark hair across her legs.
She's trying really hard not to be self-conscious. She wants to be greedy. She wants...God she wants everything.
Her own hands are on Stevie, moving fast up her waist and ribs until her fingers are sliding over the delicate lace of her bra that she's trying really hard not to catch hold of and tug, watch her tits spill out into her hands. She already knows they're going to be beautiful, she'd caught herself eyeing them often enough, guiltily picturing the shape and the weight of them. But this is different, this time she's allowed to look, Stevie has given her permission. Eddie tucks her fingertips into that delicate stretch of lace she's holding, dragging the cup down, watching it pull tight over the rounded curve of Stevie's breast, before it starts to slide down and the whole naked weight of her breast spills warm against her knuckles. It's beautiful, soft and silky, the hard pink point of her nipple easy to catch, to roll and tug and then she's opening her hand to squeeze the whole of it, copying what Stevie had done to hers, feeling breathless and desperate at the reality of it.
Eddie looks up, finds Stevie's mouth open, her cheeks flushed, eyes fixed on Eddie. It's easy to squirm in and kiss her again, hands pinned between them, touching while Eddie tries her best to taste the inside of Stevie's mouth. She can't resist shifting her other hand and doing the same to the other side. She's not as careful as she could have been, but something about being allowed to tumble Stevie's breasts out of her bra steals all sense from her. How often did she let her girlfriends do this? Did they want her as much as Eddie does. Did she let them do more than this? Did she let them love her? They must have loved her, Eddie can't imagine seeing her like this and not loving her.
"Stevie?" She doesn't even know what she's asking, but she's trembling a little as she tangles their legs together. Apparently that wasn't efficient enough because Stevie's free hand catches her hip and pulls her in tighter, thumb dipping into her waistband.
"Can I take these off?" Stevie asks. The words are quiet and strangely serious considering Stevie is still holding her breast like she might never let go.
She has a moment to worry about whether Stevie will find anything about her pussy appealing. Hair left to grow wild and always soaking wet when she's aroused, the way the sides don't match perfectly, demanding and eager for a firm touch in a way that feels greedy now Eddie's faced with someone else touching her. It's stupid because she knows that everything in Stevie's panties will be exactly what she wants, but her heart is pounding.
Eddie had always been up for giving Stevie everything she asked for, and she's not sure she could suddenly stop now. She's nodding, jerkily, though she still isn't prepared for Stevie's hands pushing into the waistband of her boxers and sliding them down. She can feel the prickly-soft rasp of leg hair and flushes at the fact that the crotch of them must be wet already. Because she's been horny since Stevie got under the blanket with her, the curves of her butt showing either side of her underwear, legs muscled like they could take Eddie down to the mat, and damn she wants her to try. She was in no way prepared for this, and is even less prepared for it to be something Stevie wants, something she's thought about.
"Oh shit–"
Stevie's fingers have slipped between her thighs, touching her gently in slow, indulgent passes where she's already slick with arousal.
"Is this ok?" The words come with a slow stroke of pressure, fingertips feeling out the shape of her.
Eddie's going to say something stupid, she knows she is. So instead she nods frantically, then leans down and opens her lips around the nipple she has caught between two fingers, urging it up into her mouth and closing around it. She can't help the noise she makes at how it fills her, the realization that she has Stevie's nipple on her tongue, the warm round of her breast in her mouth, the skin petal-soft under her teeth and she has to suck around the shape of it just to feel it.
Stevie gives a shuddery moan, her fingers pressing up until one slips through the outer folds and slides where Eddie's wet, the tip prodding sweet and sudden at her hole and lingering there with gentle pressure. Stevie's fingers are so close to being inside her it feels like going mad. She sucks at her nipple, tonguing it as she squeezes her legs around the stretch of Stevie's thigh in desperate encouragement. The idea that she might be able to touch her there too, that she might be allowed to stroke hands up Stevie's thighs and touch where her panties are damp, pull the expensive cotton and lace aside so she can rub her fingers over her, spread where she's wet, so her whole pussy glistens–
She reaches down for Stevie's hand and stops it touching her. Everything down there is hot and throbbing and Eddie is torn between wanting Stevie's fingers all shoved inside her and wanting to bury her face between Stevie's legs. Not even bothering to take her panties off, just holding them out of the way, lace digging into her lovely skin, the taste of her in Eddie's mouth.
"You," she says desperately, looking between the wet round of Stevie's breast and the brightness of her eyes. "I want to touch you, want to–" She really wants to go down on her but doesn't know how to ask. Worried she can't compete with all the boys and the girls she must have had before. This is Eddie's first time and she worries that's going to be obvious, but enthusiasm has to count for something. She wants to try, and if she does a good job– if she does a good job then maybe Stevie would let her do it again.
"I want to make you feel good, Eddie." Stevie says it with a laugh, a soft dismissal of the suggestion, as if she doesn't know, as if she has no idea how much Eddie is ruined for anyone else. "Get some color back in your cheeks."
"I'll put some color in your cheeks," Eddie bites back and Stevie laughs like she'd said something funny, fingers slip-sliding out of her grip to cup her, stretching all the way along her, the heel of Stevie's palm pressing sweet where her clit feels like a desperate ache. Eddie makes a punched-out sound and genuinely thinks that she might die. She can't help the way she grinds down onto Stevie's hand and breathes her name, once and then again.
Stevie tugs the blankets back around them from where they'd been sliding off, kissing Eddie so hard she ends up pressed into the terrible bed with half Stevie's weight on top of her. Her naked breasts resting on Eddie's chest, one of her perfect pink nipples kissing Eddie's, and the other pressed tight where there are only scars, and it's weird how the second feels more intimate.
"I've been thinking about you," Stevie says quietly, hushed like a secret as she draws a strand of hair out of Eddie's mouth, moving her other hand in soft rocks and rubs. "About the way you look at me sometimes, like you might think about me too. I know you've never cared what people think, but I didn't want to assume, I love that we're friends now and I didn't want to fuck that up if I was wrong." Her eyes drop to Edde's mouth. "Please tell me I'm not wrong?"
"Stevie." Eddie buries hands in her hair, and makes Stevie look at her. "I'm pretty sure I'd let you do anything." It's too honest, far too honest, all Eddie's messy feelings threatening to spill out.
All her words break apart though when Stevie's fingers gently spread her open, two fingers rubbing where she knows she's wet, and then drawing that slickness upwards to gently circle where she's a raw pulse of sensation.
"Would you let me do this?"
All the time.
"God, yes, please."
"Yeah?" Stevie kisses her, leaning in until they're surrounded by a curtain of her beautiful peachy hair, her whole body restless and desperate and empty, Stevie's legs tucked between her own sprawled ones, panties still on. The room is freezing and there are goosebumps on Eddie's arms, but she's panting into Stevie's mouth, legs spreading wider in their little cocoon of warmth.
"Stevie, you're gonna make me come." It's both a warning and an accusation but also twisted through with a terrible sort of delight, a thrill of satisfaction. Beautiful Stevie with her hands and her mouth and her naked breasts and Eddie is all nerves and vibrations and desperate gnashing arousal, thighs going tight, hand squeezing around one perfect breast as Stevie's fingers move faster.
"Next time I want to see you," Stevie tells her. "I want to watch how wet you get when I finger you."
Oh God.
Eddie's breath is punched out of her, a strained series of moans wavering out as she clenches down on nothing, a slow pulse of pleasure rolling in waves, feeling Stevie's fingers stutter and slow and then slide down to gently press where she wants her. Where she's hotter than anywhere else.
"Stevie."
"I'm here, I'm here." Stevie's watching her, watching the way she's probably gone blotchy and red, hair in her mouth, naked breast and scars and the weird croak in her voice she gets after she makes herself come.
I love you, she thinks, but doesn't dare say it.
"You're so pretty like this."
"No, you," Eddie says, feeling her whole body trembling with aftershocks. She realizes she means it though. "You." She tugs at the blankets, finds Stevie's solid waist and she tries to squirm around enough to pin her to the bed. Their thighs tangle and Eddie's pussy, almost too sensitive now, ends up pressed to several warm points on Stevie's thigh. She briefly wonders about the logistics of sliding high enough that they could press wet and sensitive and desperate together, if they could move against each other like that until they came, soaking each other's thighs. The idea has her moaning into Stevie's mouth, body bending as she slides lower.
"You don't have to–"
"Nope, shut up, I need to eat you out after that." She sounds so much more confident than she feels.
Stevie laughs and submits to Eddie's tugging and pulling, which is a fucking miracle from on high, a reward for good behavior maybe? She doesn't know.
But then she has Stevie under her, her tanned legs spread open, bra pulled down beneath the swells of both breasts, lips wet and she feels shattered. Because Stevie Harrington is so goddamn beautiful it feels like she's doing something she shouldn't.
The material of her underwear is visibly wet and Eddie throbs, viciously. She's post-orgasm and still somehow desperate for it, so desperate her hands are shaking. But she does what she'd been wanting to do since the beginning. She slides her fingers into Stevie's panties, feels the wet, silky spread of her pussy against her knuckles and pulls the material to the side. She does it hard enough that the lace makes a tiny noise, a sharp tear, and Stevie gasps, throat rolling in a swallow.
"Eddie, Eddie please..."
Eddie slides down under the blankets and kisses Stevie's inner thigh, then the soft spread of her pussy. She smells so good, sweet-wet in a way that feels raw and illicit and Eddie can't help the way she breathes a moan at the way Stevie urges her in. She lays her tongue against the warmth, hair a spray across golden thighs. It's her first time, her first time and she wants to be good but she thinks she goes a little mad, moaning a sound into wet skin as she licks from bottom to top, spreading Stevie open with curious curls of tongue, dipping in where she's soaking to taste all of her. When Stevie gasps a breath and trembles she does more than dip, she pushes her tongue in as far as it will go, feels hands in her hair winding tight, huffed gasps of air and her name, again, again, again. The sound of Stevie's pleasure is everything she's ever wanted.
Eddie rubs her tongue over Stevie red-pink clit, rubs it harder when Stevie holds her there. She lets her tongue ache and her jaw creak quiet complaint as Stevie grinds and presses down into her. She could die here, with Stevie's sweetness on her tongue and her desperate cries in the chilled air. She shifts her mouth back slightly when she needs to relieve the ache, kissing and rubbing her fingers where Stevie is messy and wet with her saliva, occasionally pressing inside when she gets greedy, feeling the hot squeeze of her around her knuckles. It's so much, and Eddie can hear herself rambling out nonsense as she tightens her other hand and pulls harder, moaning at the strain of lace. She spreads Stevie open just to look, slick fingers on the delicate folds, she leaves open-mouthed kisses on her pussy over and over. Until Stevie urges her back where she wants her most, where she's hot and trembling and sensitive.
Eddie is happy to follow direction, far be it from her to refuse Stevie anything, especially not when it's to have Eddie's face buried in her. If she needed to breathe it's not important anymore. Stevie's gripping her hair so tightly it hurts, thighs squeezing around her head in a way that has her humming delight and clenching her own legs shut, rubbing her tongue in circles and feeling the little jumps and strains and twitches that tell her she's doing a good job, pushing her closer and closer. Until Stevie's coming under her mouth, a squirming, clenching pleasure that she can feel. It's wet and frenzied and Eddie's whole body is hot and raw and buzzing in a way she'd only ever felt when high. She lets Stevie use her mouth as she comes down, making a mess of her chin and cheeks.
She ends up breathing there after, oddly concerned that she'll accidentally blow a raspberry on that wet skin, and the thought is so silly she finds herself stifling laughter.
Stevie echoes it and she feels warm all the way through.
"Oh my God."
"Good?" Eddie wonders, hopes?
Stevie huffs a sound of tired amusement and drags her back up the bed, listening to the canvas fabric give protesting groans at their enthusiasm.
"I swear next time it's your turn, Eddie."
"Oh wow, now that's a promise." She's no longer shivering. Her mouth feels a little bruised, lips numb, the taste of Stevie still on her tongue, and she can't stop smiling when Stevie kisses her and tucks the blanket back around her shoulders.
Eddie decides she'll be a good friend and she gently slides Stevie's tits back into her bra, with a slow indulgence and a gentle stroking squeeze for each. Then she submits to the face-to-face cuddling that she's wrangled into.
"That was amazing," Eddie manages. "Thank you." It doesn't occur to her how weird it is to thank Stevie until it's out. But she's laughing and burying them deeper in the blankets. Eddie kisses her cheek, leaving the wet scent of her on peachy skin.
"I can't feel my legs." Stevie sounds delighted and Eddie's definitely taking that as a compliment.
"My tongue hurts," Eddie says with a laugh.
"It did good work," Stevie insists.
Eddie thinks she'd be blushing if she had more brain. But now she's tired and Stevie smells a little sweaty, which Eddie thinks she's kind of into because she burrows deeper, hums into her skin.
"Thought it was a guy thing to fall asleep after sex," she complains after a sleepy minute. "What time is it?"
"Quarter to three." Stevie tucks her in close and kisses her nose. "I think the snow's stopped."
"So it's back to the real world tomorrow?"
Stevie pulls the blanket up higher over them both. "Eh, I think the real world is overrated sometimes."
"Hmm," Eddie agrees, already half asleep against Stevie's shoulder.