Chapter Text
Chapter 2
“You know, I expected this from him,” Hopper says, scowling specifically in Eddie’s direction as he paces around the room, the two boys sat on the couch in front of him. “But you’re supposed to be the responsible one. You’re supposed to keep him under control.”
Steve blinks at Hopper, bewildered. “I literally don’t know why you would ever think I would be capable of doing that.”
The Harrington boy had at least had the decency to look sheepish after more than a few choice words had already started being exchanged between Hopper and Munson the minute he followed them inside until Steve had finally soothed the older boy enough to convince him to even admit to Hopper that Chrissy was there at all.
“It’s just Hop, Eds — if anything, he might even have some advice, or whatever —”
“We don’t need an adult, Steve,” Munson hisses like Hopper isn’t standing right there. Like he’d said before. Subtle. "This isn't an after school special, okay, christ!"
Hopper can’t sit here say he honestly wasn’t surprised by the two of them — Eddie and Steve — but he also considered a man’s business his own and would rather die than think about the sex lives of any of the kids he considers himself unofficially responsible for.
Not to mention Joyce would kill him if he’d done anything else other than smile and nod and say sure, whatever, okay.
And so far that had been working great until this morning.
“Okay,” he sighs, head practically in his hands already, “first of all, you can’t just say It’s just Hop, when I’m literally sitting here as the goddamn chief of police because once again, you two fuckheads have ruined my day and it’s barely 8 o’clock in the morning. And second of all —”
“ — I don’t think you’re allowed to call them fuckheads when you’re here as the chief of police, Hop.”
Hopper whirls around to see Max, his daughter’s best friend, standing next to a girl he presumes to be Chrissy Cunningham, if only because she’s the only one in the house that looks terrified. And he realizes, watching her turn a sickly shade of white and start trembling, visibly — right in front of him — that she's scared of something.
Scared of him?
“You can’t take me back there.”
“Listen, sweetheart, nobody is taking anybody anywhere. But you didn’t come home last night, so your mother —” Hopper starts, as softly as he can manage because the girl is so pale and slight she looks like she might fall over any second.
“I’m eighteen, you can’t make me talk to her. I don’t have to —” Chrissy’s beginning to hyperventilate a little, but before Hopper can even think about doing something for her, the boys are already off the couch and reaching for her.
It is, quite possibly, one of the strangest things he’s ever witnessed. And Hopper knows fucking weird. He’s not sure what he was expecting here, but it wasn’t that tender look in Eddie Munson’s eyes as whispers something in Chrissy’s ear that helps her breathe a little easier. Or Steve Harrington’s hand curling protectively in hers before he turns to Hopper and asks, “Is that true? Does she have to?”
Hopper pinches his nose and tries not to think about the pounding headache already beginning behind his right eye. Because the answer is technically no, but boy does that make his life a lot fucking harder. Because someone has to talk to Mrs. Cunningham, and unfortunately it’s looking like it might just be him.
Great. “No, technically she does not, but that does mean she’s gonna have to talk to me. At least a little bit. Because I can’t do shit for you if you guys don’t talk to me, all right?”
Steve and Eddie exchange a weighted glance that Hopper doesn’t quite understand, but they nod.
Hopper turns his attention to Chrissy again and tries to keep the annoyance out of his voice when he speaks. “So, can I ask you a few questions, sweetheart? Would that be okay?”
Chrissy’s eyes go wide and there’s a flush to her pale face now, but she nods too, seemingly determined.
“So you’re here because you want to be, right? Nobody’s forcing you to stay here — you’re safe?”
Eddie’s already lunging forward with a growling “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” that comes out at the same time as Chrissy’s squeaking, “Yes, of course I’m safe here.”
Steve’s got a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, thankfully, pulling him back. “He has to ask, Eds. It’s his job.”
“Okay,” Hopper sighs. “You two —” and he points to Max and Eddie, jerking his head toward the front door. “ — you two are outside until we’re done. And you two —” he points to Steve and Chrissy, “ — are going to tell me what the hell is going on here. Are we clear?”
Steve and Chrissy don’t object, but it goes about as well with Munson as Hopper expects, the boy letting out another creative stream of curses.
“Hey! Why do I have to go?” Max says, that trademark scowl Hopper’s become quite used to seeing around his house these days stuck on her face again.
“Max!” Hopper prompts, sounding as tired as he feels considering his day has barely started.
Max looks about as thrilled as Eddie at being thrown out of the house but with a sigh that’s almost as impressive as his was, she drags the older boy out onto the front porch. “Come on, Cujo. Dogs wait outside.”
…
Christ. Eddie thought he was admittedly overprotective where Steve’s concerned, but with Chrissy in there too? It takes every modicum of self-control, not to mention Max’s efforts, to distract him as he practically digs a trench on his own stupid porch pacing back and forth.
And he doesn’t even have to wait that long before they’re all watching Hopper drive away in his police truck, Chrissy’s hand still grasped firmly in Steve’s but reaching for his too. And Eddie’s not going to think about the relief a single stupid handhold is giving him at the moment — he’s going to attribute most of that feeling to the fact that nobody got arrested this morning.
Especially him.
“Uh — “ Chrissy starts sheepishly, “ — so, is the Hawkin’s chief of police kind of like, um, your dad or something?”
“Ew, no way,” Eddie says, disgusted, at about the same time that Steve and Max shrug and say, “Yeah, kinda.”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “Okay – I never thought I’d be the one to fuckin’ say this, but let’s just go to school.”
Steve is still laughing at him even as he presses kisses to both his and Chrissy’s foreheads, ignoring Max's noises of disgust with a flash of the finger and a smug wink, before they all climb into Eddie’s van and drive away. Eddie doesn't even have to look back to know that Steve is still there, waiting on the front porch the way he always did until the car was nothing more than a tiny speck in the distance before turning around and going back inside.
Maybe it's the fact that Eddie, while he might play up the whole footloose and fancy free thing on occasion, and act like Steve was the real worrywart between them, right now he's nursing an ache in his jaw. And not even for any fun reasons, he thinks ruefully, pulling into the school lot with a shrill squeal of his tires. He's just been clenching it since he'd suckerpunched Jason Carver in that alleyway hard enough that it feels like his teeth might be dust by the end of the day.
It doesn’t help much either whenever he looks down and sees the fading smudges of blue and purple around Chrissy’s slender wrist. Sue him for having his hackles raised a little.
Chrissy obviously notices this, because when they get to the steps, Chrissy’s hand firmly grips his when she plants her feet hard enough to pull him back toward her.
He doesn’t even get the chance to open his mouth to ask what she’s doing because he’s being yanked forward until all he can taste is strawberry lip gloss and all he can smell is the scent of Steve’s shampoo in Chrissy’s hair. He still feels about 60% dumber than normal when Chrissy finally lets go of where she’d had him by the jacket.
That probably wasn’t a good idea, right? Drawing that kind of attention to themselves (but to be fair, when had Eddie been good at avoiding attention anyway?). “Wha — what was that for?” he manages to say, still slightly breathless as Chrissy gazes up at him with a satisfied smile on her face.
“Just felt like it,” she says with a shrug. “Wanted to.”
Jesus christ. Between her and Steve, Eddie’ll be lucky to have any brain cells left at all to graduate with. And he didn’t even have that many to spare, he thinks, dazedly following Chrissy and Max up the steps.
“It’ll be okay, Eddie,” Chrissy says, squeezing his hand. “We’ll be okay.”
He’s not sure they will be, frankly, because who knows if or what Jason and his band of idiots have in store for them. But then again, it couldn’t be worse than the Upside Down (a thought he frequently uses to comfort himself now, because it’s fucking true that place is the worst) though, so that’s the thought that bolsters him as he lets Chrissy lead him down the hallway to her locker.
He’s sure they all make a confusing sight at this point, him and the Hellfire Club and the rest of the party sitting at the same lunch table as the “school priss” Nancy Wheeler and that “weird Buckley girl.” And now Queen Chrissy Cunningham too, right there next to him blushing a little and hiding her face as they all listen to Dustin and Lucas reenact the most violent highlights of yesterday for about the hundredth time that day. This time for Mike and Gareth who both turn to Chrissy looking bewildered and impressd when they get to the end and pantomime the slap she’d given Jason after the whole make sure Steve didn’t actually kill anyone thing.
And okay, yeah, there were definitely plenty of stares and whispers as the morning had gone on, but really not that many more than usual. Maybe it’s Jason’s double black eyes or the visibly busted tail light of his jeep that everyone can plainly see in the parking lot outside — irrefutable proof that Chrissy’s new boyfriends were perfectly willing to rise to her defense (violently if necessary) that kept everyone from opening their mouths and getting themselves in trouble.
Everything is okay — he’s okay, Chrissy’s okay, they’re okay — and they’d made it all the way to lunch without incident.
Chrissy’s been quiet though, nestled into his side as she poked listlessly at the lunch that Steve had slipped into her bag the same way he did for Eddie most mornings. She hasn’t eaten much, but then again she never seems to — it’s not something that’s escaped his notice. And before, Eddie might’ve said something, but Steve had sort of explained some things. How Nancy’d had a friend who’d had some trouble with stuff like that — food stuff. And the absolute least helpful thing had been just telling her to eat more.
You can’t push her about it, baby. It won’t work. Besides, where’s that patience you’re always bragging about?
Eddie is beginning to hate the word patience with every fiber of his being.
Maybe that’s why Eddie gets up then, ignoring the slightly confused expressions on his friends’ faces (lunch was barely half over) as he does, holding out his hand to Chrissy, which she takes of course, allowing him to pull her up but wearing the same perplexed look as the rest of them.
“Eddie — where are we going?” Chrissy finally asks when the cafeteria doors shut behind them.
“You’ll see,” Eddie says, flashing her a feral grin of teeth and pulling her along behind him.
Hellfire Club is over along with drama for the year, so the department is empty, mostly dark save for the few flood lights on backstage. Not that Eddie needs them, because he could find the prop closet with his eyes closed at this point.
It was less of a closet and more of a storage room, but the big square table, and of course, his throne, are right where they always are. Home sweet fucking home he thinks fondly, the door shutting with definitive click as he flips on the lights.
Chrissy immediately starts looking around at the sheer mass of things — the different chairs and tables and random play props shoved in here year after year after year, mostly gathering dust. She stops in front of the throne, head cocked and expression thoughtful as she runs her fingers carefully over the carved wood. “So this is where you have your, um, your club thing? Your game?”
Eddie laughs. “Yep. But we had our last meeting last week. Our last official one, I guess,” he says, leaning against the table, arms crossed.
“And this is where the King sits then?” Chrissy asks, this time with a coy smile curling the corner of her mouth that absolutely doesn’t spark that little flame in Eddie’s belly that’s been building since this morning.
“It is,” Eddie says, arching an eyebrow. “Maybe you should try it on for size, Cunningham.”
There’s that pretty blush again, Chrissy’s little twittering laugh echoing sweet in his ears.
Okay, so screw patience, at least right now, Eddie thinks. That’s really his only thought when he lifts Chrissy up by the hips, ignoring her squeal of surprise, her giggling as he deposits her carefully on the seat before kissing her fiercely on the mouth.
Before sliding to the floor on his knees in front of her.
Chrissy’s still catching her breath, her voice a little shaky. “Eddie — what are you doing?”
Well, nothing yet, Eddie thinks, grinning up at her as they both watch his palms drag up and over her jean-clad legs, her thighs, enjoying the slight tremble it earns him as he does. “How else should I pledge fealty to my Queen?” he asks, tongue stuck between his teeth, all mischief as his thumb traces the teeth on her zipper.
He can hear her breath skip, watching how her chest is already starting to rapidly rise and fall. “Eddie, we can’t — what if someone comes in — what if someone hears us?”
She’s saying all these things, sure, but Eddie’s pretty sure she doesn’t really doesn’t care. Or at the very least can’t be bothered to all that much, because those pretty polished fingernails of hers are in his hair now doing the opposite of pushing him away.
So far the only thing he’s really done is undo the button of her jeans and pull the zipper down just enough for him to bare a sliver of skin to kiss, gooseflesh pebbling under the heat of his breath. “And if you’re worried about somebody finding us, I guess you better not make too much noise, babygirl.”
Chrissy’s little whine, that doesn’t inspire much confidence, but Eddie doesn’t care. Hard to care about anything other than the girl in front of him looking down at him like he could change her whole world with just a touch of his hands.
It’s almost too much power, even for him. What does he even want to do with it though, other than give her whatever the hell she wants. Whatever she asks for.
“Why don’t you tell me exactly what you want, babygirl,” Eddie croons.
Chrissy’s eyes flutter shut. “Can’t you just — can you —”
Eddie shakes his head. “Uh uh, Chrissy — Queens don’t ask. They give orders. So —” he says, smirking, “ — why don’t you give me my marching orders, baby. Or, I guess I should say your Majesty?”
“Oh my god,” Chrissy sighs, “you are insane — you’re —” and there might be a few more protests, but not all that many, because her nails press into his scalp just barely hard enough to hurt. It’s that delicious sting that distracts him enough that he almost almost misses it:
Chrissy, worrying at her lip and looking halfway to mortified as she manages to squeak, “I want you to make me cum.”
Eddie bares his teeth and says, “As you wish,” at the same time he manages to slip two fingers into the waistband of those tight jeans to start rubbing at her clit, groaning when he can already feel how wet she is through the soaked cotton.
God, he’s only had this for a few days, but he’s pretty sure if anyone tried to take Chrissy away from him and Steve at this point, Eddie might actually kill them because she’s somehow the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen like this. Grinding against his hand, her hips practically off the chair as she tries to stop his teasing.
Eddie, Eddie — come on, please. I need —
“What do you need, baby,” Eddie asks, voice husky as he finally pushes aside the elastic of her underwear to just barely swirl the tip of his thumb through her wetness, tearing a cry from her throat. “Won’t do anything else until you tell me.”
Eddie might not look like he’s as close to losing it as Chrissy, but he can feel his own heart pounding in his ribs, can hear his own ragged breathing rivaling hers. At least his voice is somewhat steady. And his hands too when Chrissy lets out another needy little sob, whispering like it’s a shameful secret, “I want you to fuck me with your fingers.”
He’s knuckle deep inside her before she knows what’s happening, and he relishes it, the look of blinding hunger on her face, the way her blue eyes have gone stormy and a little wild as she tries to hold his gaze. To watch his face as he fucks her.
“God — you and Steve are gonna fucking kill me,” Eddie murmurs, shaking his head, three fingers pumping in and out of her as best he can with her jeans only halfway rolled down her hips. Her legs are spread so obscenely wide it drives him crazy to think about someone coming in and seeing her like this.
See her wrecked and wet and aching for it.
Chrissy nods, a very lewd, very not quiet moan passing her lips. “I wish he was here — “
Me too, Eddie thinks, though what he says is, “Oh, thanks,” winking slyly at her as he does.
“No, I didn’t mean — I meant —” Chrissy whimpers, hiding her face as yet another shudder rolls through her that Eddie practically feels in his own bones.
“I know what you meant,” Eddie says, expression slightly wicked as he leans down and lets his tongue flick exactly once over that swollen nub of flesh he’s become so fucking enamored with. “Because that’s what you really want, huh? Me and Stevie on our knees for you. Eating this sweet little pussy out together?”
“Oh god.”
That’s really all it takes. He’s fast, luckily, because Chrissy’s scream absolutely might’ve drawn somebody down here if he hadn’t thought to slip a couple of fingers in her mouth as she falls apart above him.
Chrissy’s still shaking, panting softly, her hands still in his hair like she needs the anchor. She probably does, Edde thinks fondly as he presses one last kiss to the soft white flesh below her bellybutton. “Long live the Queen, baby,” he adds, grinning at her.
Maybe Eddie didn’t think she could blush any harder than she is currently, but she’s proved him wrong, yet again.
He can’t wait for her to do it again and again and again.