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Letting her sleep in his trailer after everything that happened is sort of a no-brainer. Chrissy looks so shy when she asks—so desperate, as if it’s something terribly bothersome to ask of him. That’s how she always looks when Eddie is glancing at her at school: like someone who always thinks they’re taking up too much space.
And in Eddie’s opinion, she really couldn’t take up enough space.
She asks him to sleep in his bed with him, which is certainly a harder thing to do. He has to change his sheets right in front of her, muttering apologies over how gross his room is and how crusty the old sheets were, but that’s honestly not the worst thing. No, the worst thing is lying next to Chrissy Cunningham on his narrow bed, with her in one of his Black Sabbath shirts under the blanket, while he’s still in jeans and his shirt on top of the blanket right next to her.
She’s asked multiple times if he’s not cold. And he is, a little, the trailer certainly isn’t warm, but he’d rather die than get under the blanket with her. His thoughts are a mess as is—they keep trailing to her bra that’s on the floor behind him. The fact that she’s only in one of his shirts and her underwear.
And yeah, sleeping in the same bed as Jason Carver’s girlfriend really isn’t one of Eddie’s best ideas, regardless of the circumstances, but here they are.
As if she can feel his brain wracking, Chrissy’s eyes flutter open again. It’s dark in the room, but he feels like he can still see the stormy grey of her eyes so very clearly.
“You’re staring,” she says, quietly, softly, and it doesn’t sound like she’s mad about it. Eddie’s face flushes, anyway.
“Uh,” he mutters, wets his lips with his tongue. “It’s just… everything today, y’know?”
A small pause. They both know what happened just a few hours ago, obviously. How could either of them forget? Chrissy started fucking floating in front of him, while she apparently was hallucinating some sort of nightmare scenario. She tried explaining it to him, back then, but she’d still been hysterical, scared half to death, so he only understood half of it.
Not that he can blame her. Fuck, Eddie was goddamn scared, too. That was something else entirely. Something that makes him want to reach out and close his hand around her upper arm, never let go of her again so he can make sure she’s safe forever. Something that makes him want to never let her leave his sight again.
“You said you heard something, and that snapped you out of it,” he adds, then, both because he’s curious and because lying here in the dark in his room on his bed is both awkward and horrible for his mental state. Chrissy Cunningham, in his bed. God, he’s such a freak. Why is he thinking about things like that anyway, after everything that happened? “What, uh, what was it? That you heard?”
Chrissy looks at him in a way that knocks all air out of his lungs. She looks at him like she sees him, like she wants to look at him, and it makes something thrum right under his skin, makes his heart in his chest go wild. God, he’s had a crush on her for years.
This is so stupid. Pining after Jason Carver’s girlfriend is also not one of his best ideas.
“The radio,” she whispers back, and for some reason, she smiles. “I heard the radio. And then, I heard you.”
Eddie furrows his brows. That’s right, he put on the radio before he went searching for the ketamine, turning the whole trailer upside down. Just to get her more at ease, at least that was what he hoped—though he doesn’t think she listens to that sender a whole lot, it’s mostly just his music taste.
It takes a while until he remembers what song was playing when Chrissy started floating.
“Dio,” he says, slowly. Chrissy nods, and he lifts a brow. “You know Dio?”
She nods again. Chews on her bottom lip. And for just that moment, she looks so terribly guilty—he’s just about to ask why, when her face clears up again, after her gaze flicked around a little. As if… as if she’d remembered where she is. Eddie swallows.
“I love Dio,” she says, quietly again, and this time, it sounds like she’s telling him a secret. “And Black Sabbath. That’s why I picked this shirt.” Chrissy pauses then, grimaces a little, looking off to the side, and her face is a little darker, now. “It’s weird, isn’t it? I can only ever listen to it on the radio anyway, my mom wouldn’t want me to own music like that. She’d get seriously mad.”
Eddie’s mouth is dry. There he thought she couldn’t be any more captivating, and then she says I love Dio. Jesus Christ.
“Well,” he says, finally, moving to scratch at the base of his head. “You don’t look like a metalhead.”
Something seems to fall off her at that, and she giggles, a sound that rushes through his body hotly. Her smile is… wow. The prettiest thing in the world, probably. With the crinkle around her eyes and her crooked teeth and her pink lips that aren’t glossy anymore. Seeing her eyelids without the usual blue eyeshadow is so unfamiliar that it makes something inside him ache.
“I suppose not,” she says, scooting a little closer. Her hair slips over her shoulder, strawberry blonde waves that Eddie has spent more time staring at from behind than he’d ever care to admit. “Tell me something no one would expect about you.”
That makes him pause. Not just because he didn’t expect her to want to know, well, much of anything about him, but also because he needs to think about an answer for a moment. His heart is fluttering too much for him to be able to think clearly. He can smell her perfume—cinnamon, he thinks. Something like that. It smells good. He wants to bury his face in her hair.
“Uh,” he says, and his voice breaks a little, feels scratchy in his throat. “I love baby cats.”
Chrissy lifts her brows. Then she giggles, her eyes squeezing shut in joy, and fuck, fuck, fuck, ever since meeting her in the woods Eddie can’t stop thinking about how he’s never seen her smile like this. Can’t stop himself from stupidly hoping he’s the only one who sees it.
Which is dumb, of course. Not only does she have a boyfriend, but they also barely know each other. And even if they did, he doubts she’d be into the town’s resident freak.
“Kittens?” she says softly, her lashes fluttering again. They’re so pale without the mascara. “I mean, who doesn’t?”
Eddie nods dumbly. Yeah, well, she’s right about that, he supposes. Who doesn’t?
Before he can come up with anything more to say, to fill the awkward silence so he can stop his thoughts from wandering too much, Chrissy bites down on her bottom lip, and there’s a weird look in her eyes.
“You should take your clothes off,” she says, even quieter than before. “That doesn’t look comfortable.”
Eddie’s heart just about explodes in his chest. That’s—She, she doesn’t mean it like that, obviously, not after what happened today (and in general, probably), but goddamnit, she can’t just say shit like that out of nowhere.
“Oh,” he says, finally, and he thinks she can probably definitely see how his face is burning. He’s burning somewhere else, too, and this really isn’t the right place for that. He really doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. “Uh, I’m good.”
She’s back to chewing on her bottom lip. Stares at him for longer than is normal, and his gaze flicks around the part of the room that is visible to him without moving his head, returning to her ever so often, only to see that she’s still looking at him. Jesus Christ. She’s going to kill him. She’s so going to kill him.
“You’re uncomfortable,” she mutters, and now, she sounds guilty again. “If you don’t want me, you can just say that, y’know?”
Eddie blinks. What the fuck is she talking about? He furrows his brows, speechless—and there’s something vaguely hurt in Chrissy’s expression, but it slowly melts away the longer she’s looking at him, before she laughs, faintly.
“You,” she starts, then she reaches out and places her hand on Eddie’s chest, over his shirt. He swallows. “You didn’t notice, huh?”
His head is spinning. He thinks about how she’d taken off her bra earlier, from under his too big shirt that falls down to her mid thigh, and the way he’d just about managed to spin around, to avoid watching her do it.
“Notice what?”
This isn’t… She isn’t… Right?
Chrissy huffs, a frustrated little sound, and it’s the cutest thing in the world. Before he can say anything—apologize for not understanding, for being weird, for making her uncomfortable—she leans in and presses her mouth over his. Eddie freezes. His heart thrums where her hand presses against his chest.
It takes a while until it arrives in his head. In fact, it takes so long that she’s leaned back by the time it does, and Eddie blinks, once, twice. Chrissy looks… nervous.
“Eddie,” she says, unsure, and he has no idea what she’s going to say next, but it doesn’t happen anyway because he cups the back of her neck, shivering at the smooth feeling of her hair, and moves to lean over her, kissing her on the mouth.
It’s still weird, even as he’s doing it. He’s only had a couple of kisses in his life—and they were stupid little kiddie kisses in elementary and middle school. Nothing… serious.
Nothing like Chrissy Cunningham under him on his bed in his shirt, his hand on her neck, his lips sliding over hers, and there’s a small noise that rolls out of her that rushes down Eddie’s spine hotly, straight to his cock. And he feels guilty again for a moment—feels like a fucking creep, but then her tongue pushes against his lips and he groans and opens his mouth without really thinking about it too much.
When he leans back, his eyes are wide and he’s panting. Chrissy, she’s… well, she’s still under the blanket, but seeing her like this, hovering on top of her, is… Her eyes are a little glassy. Her face is flushed. Her hair is a little messy. And her lips…
She laughs. “You’re staring again.”
Eddie starts chewing on his bottom lip. His head is spinning. What the fuck is he supposed to say to that? It’s not like he has any clue what’s going on.
“You’re…” he starts anyway, clearing his throat when his voice gets rough. “You’re so pretty. And really fucking weird.”
Chrissy snorts, wrinkling her nose with it, then she wraps her arms around his neck—a movement that makes Eddie shiver. He wonders when he last washed his hair.
“What a nice compliment,” she says, quietly, but the smile on her face tells him that she’s more genuine about that than she’s letting on. Her eyes are sparkling.
Before he can say any more stupid shit, she pulls him in, and just like that, they’re kissing again. She’s kissing him. And it feels fucking weird because while he’s definitely not complaining, this really doesn’t seem like the best idea after everything that happened today.
As if she can feel his thoughts, his reluctance, she pulls away, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, tugging at his bottom lip with her teeth in a way that makes Eddie groan. He’s so fucking hard already it’s embarrassing.
“Please,” she whispers, and there’s that secret voice again, that tone in it that makes him feel tingly all over, that makes him feel special for some goddamn fucking reason. “Please, I need it.” With that, she tugs at the hem of his shirt, and Eddie didn’t even notice she moved her hand out from under the blanket. “Is this okay?”
And shit, it’s more than okay. God, he’s thought about this so many times, but really, Chrissy is so much different from what he expected.
Better, of course. She’s…
“Uh-huh,” he says, still frozen, but he still manages to get his shirt off over his head. Immediately, her hands are on him—wandering down his chest, to the hair on his stomach, and she brushes her hand over it, her gaze trained on it, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. No one’s ever looked at him like this.
He doesn’t know what to do. Shit, he’s never done any of this before. He knows what usually happens, obviously, what he can do and all of that, but he feels so… frozen. As if his brain is still catching up to what’s happening.
So it’s Chrissy who starts tugging at the button of his jeans. Something hot washes over him, and he’s not stupid, he knows where this is going, but it feels like it’s just now really and truly arriving in his brain. One of his hands lands on hers before he can stop himself. Her hand disappears completely behind his.
When she looks up to him, brows furrowed, there’s worry swirling in her eyes. She’s always doubting herself, apparently—and Eddie wants nothing more than to see her laugh forever.
“I’m sorry,” she says, and it digs into his chest. This is really happening, huh? “I thought—”
“It’s not that,” he blurts out. He’s probably so embarrassing right now—and part of him wants to play it cool, wants to be the suave, seductive rocker or some bullshit like that, but what she needs most right now is probably comfort. “Fuck, Chrissy, you have no idea how badly I want you.” Her eyes light up a little at that, but he’s not done yet. His gaze flicks to the side. “It’s just, uh, I don’t have any condoms.”
And obviously he doesn’t, it’s not like he’s ever done this before. Like anything recently looked like he might need them. He was thinking about it for a moment, earlier, before he picked her up—thought about the implications of her coming to his trailer alone in the middle of the night, but he’s not quite that delusional.
Well. And now here they are.
“Oh,” slips out of Chrissy, a surprised little sound, and Eddie grimaces at how she seemingly thought he’d be more experienced at this. Well, surprise, he’s not!
When he looks back at her, she’s biting down on her bottom lip again. There’s something sparkling in her eyes—something dangerous, somehow. Something that looks like the worst idea either of them had the entire evening, and that says something.
“It’s okay,” she says, and she clears her throat, looks off to the side. “It’s fine. Just, uh, you need to pull out, yeah?”
Eddie’s mouth is dry. All of this is… absurd. Why the fuck does she want this so bad anyway?
(Not that he’s complaining. Not really. No, it pushes his ego in a way that feels almost silly. Chrissy Cunningham, in his bed. Chrissy Cunningham in his bed.)
Before he can say much to that, Chrissy sits up as much as him being on top of her allows her to, and she pushes the blanket aside. He gets a glimpse of pale legs under his black shirt, but then she lifts it, tugs it off over her head.
It’s dim in his room. The moonlight spilling in from his cracked window is the only source of light, but even then, Eddie doesn’t think he could miss even the tiniest detail of this. She’s only in her panties, now—white, he thinks, hard to tell—and his gaze wanders up her thighs to her stomach to her small breasts with the pebbled nipples. He feels like he’s getting strangled. There’s a mole on her thigh. Two on her stomach. One over her right breast.
“Oh, shit,” he mutters, more to himself than to anyone else.
Chrissy laughs a little, a nervous little sound, and Eddie leans closer until she falls back into the mattress. It’s… easier to move now. He doesn’t feel any less reverent, however.
He manages to brush his lips down her neck to her collarbone, before brushing them over one of her breasts, pushing his tongue out to flick it against her nipple experimentally. Chrissy gasps, and spurred on by that noise, he takes her nipple in his mouth, brushes one of his hands down the curve of her hip, squeezing her gently, before brushing it inward, cupping her through her panties.
She’s… warm. Of course she is. She’s alive underneath him, and she’s warm, and he thinks he can feel her heartbeat like this, against his face, against his fingers. Or maybe that’s his own.
Chrissy gasps again when Eddie brushes his fingertips over the cotton of her panties, so he does it again, with a little more pressure this time, and she bucks her hips into his touch, moaning a little. Her noises leave his head spinning, his cock twitching in his pants. His whole body feels like it’s thrumming.
“Eddie,” she gasps, and God, he loves when she says his name. Loves it more than he ever thought he could love any sound, any word. “Eddie, please, touch me—”
And he swallows, but God, he could never say no to her. Not that he wants to.
Slowly, he slips his hand inside of her panties, shivering at the feeling of her pubic hair against his fingertips and palm, and it takes a few moments until he’s managed to slip his fingers between her folds. He gasps at the wetness, turning his head to press his cheek against her breast, before lifting his head again, looking at her.
Chrissy has her eyes squeezed shut, her lips parted, and her eyelids are fluttering when she moans, when she looks back at him. There’s something electric in his chest at the way their gazes meet.
He doesn’t really know what to do. He thinks his hands are shaking a little. But with the way she reacts to his touches, Eddie thinks he can’t be doing things all wrong. Carefully, he brushes his fingers over her slick skin, down and then up again, rubbing her a little, and at one point, she rolls her head back and groans, so he focuses there. Her clit, right? His head is spinning. Jesus Christ.
“Chrissy,” he gasps, and he doesn’t even have anything to say, really, but he still feels like he needs to say her name anyway. His vision is blurring with his lust, but he can still see her so very clearly. He thinks he’ll always be able to.
She squirms under his touches, pushes her hips against his hand and lets out a noise that sounds almost frustrated. She’s drooling a little, he thinks—and by now, her hair is definitely messed up.
“Can you put your fingers in me?” she asks, gasping. “Two of them. And press your palm against the rest of it.”
His head is filled with clouds, but hey, if anything, Eddie is grateful about being told what to do. Being told what makes her feel good, even when he isn’t sure he completely understands what she’s talking about.
He slips two fingers down her slit, until they bump against her hole, and he groans a little when he carefully pushes them inside. She’s warm around him, and wet, and his entire body is prickling.
When he looks up at her again, Chrissy’s face is screwed up a little—and she’s chewing on her lip before letting out a small whine, so he presses his palm against her. And now that he’s here, he doesn’t really know what to do next, so he just rubs against her, moves his fingers in and out of her slowly, watches how her head falls back and her mouth falls open.
God, she’s the prettiest girl in the universe. The prettiest person full stop. The scrunch of her nose, her messed up curls, her flushed and swollen bottom lip, those slightly crooked teeth, her pale lashes and the grey eyes and she’s always driven him insane but never as much as she does now.
His jeans are way too tight.
She moans, gasps, a high pitched little noise rolling out of her, rushing straight down Eddie’s spine to his cock. This is… This is…
She’s warm around his fingers. Against his palm. Her pubic hair tickles him a little, and he wants to know what she smells like. What she tastes like. What she sounds like when she comes. With a small groan, he rubs his palm against Chrissy’s pussy again, grinding the heel of it against what he hopes is her clit, and with the way her hips jump into his touch, a startled sound slipping out of her, it probably is.
Probably.
It doesn’t take much longer until his hand starts cramping, but by then, she’s rolling her hips against his hand steadily, meeting his thrusts with her own, her wetness smearing all over his palm, and his gaze is focused on the way her eyes flutter, the way her mouth falls open and shut. He’s biting down on his bottom lip so hard that he thinks he’ll split it.
Her movements get faster, and he pushes against her with a little more pressure, which causes her to lift her hips off the mattress. It’s…
“Eddie,” she gasps, and his cock jumps in his pants. It hurts a little, by now. Both his hand and his cock. “Eddie, Eddie, just like that, don’t stop, don’t—”
And he stares at her face with wide eyes while she fucks herself against his hand until she’s trembling and gasping and moaning, her chest heaving, and the movements of her breasts drive him insane. What drives him even more insane is the way she’s clamping down around his fingers—like a vice grip. Oh, God, he wants her so bad.
He feels a little cold when Chrissy relaxes back into the mattress, with what his window opened and his shirt on the floor and all that. He forgot about all of that. Shit, he forgot about everything.
Swallowing, she slips his fingers out of her, slips his hand out of her panties, and she whines at that, her eyes fluttering open again. Without really thinking about it, Eddie stares at his hand, glistening a little in the moonlight, before putting his fingers into his mouth, sucking her juices off them.
It tastes… a little sour. Earthy in a weird way. He thinks he could get used to it.
Chrissy gasps, and when he looks back at her, her face is flushed darkly. “You…” she says, gesturing to his hand, and he furrows his brows, takes his fingers out of his mouth. “You’re so hot.”
It makes him shiver. Makes him stare at her, because holy shit, it’s certainly not every day that Chrissy Cunningham calls him of all people hot.
“I wanna fuck you,” slips out of him before he can bite it back. Not the most elegant way to say it, but she laughs, and that makes everything in the world okay.
With a small, almost shy grin, she reaches out to tug at his pants.
“Need to get those off, then.”
Eddie swallows, nods, then he climbs off the bed to take off his pants. Popping the button open, peeling them off his legs, and when he looks up, Chrissy is watching him. He swallows again, unsure if he should take off his boxers, too, but he doesn’t get any further anyway, because she slips her hands down her own body, down her rib cage and the curve of her waist, to slip her fingers under her panties and pull them down, slowly, slowly.
It’s hard to tell in the dark, but her pubic hair looks as light as her hair does. His mouth is dry.
She chucks them off the bed, turns to face him, and giggles again.
“You keep staring at me like that.”
Eddie puts his knee back on the mattress, leaning over her, and he presses a small kiss to her mouth. That’s fine, right?
“Like what?”
Chrissy grins, reaches out to brush a hand up his thigh, and God, he feels like he’s going to pass out. Especially so when she starts playing with the hem of his boxers.
“I dunno,” she says, looking down at the front of boxers, and when she looks back up at him, she’s biting down on her lip. “Wide eyes. Open mouth. I like it.”
Well, at least she likes it, he supposes, because he doesn’t think he could ever stop looking at her like that. He lets her hook her fingers under the waistband of his boxers, moves to help her with getting them off, and he’d let her do a lot of things to him, really. He’s never been particularly wise.
Once his boxers are on the floor, too, it’s quiet for a few moments. She’s… staring. And really, Eddie’s heart is hammering in his chest, and really, if she could fucking say or do anything that would be really, really nice.
“Uh,” he says, shifting to sit on the bed. “You okay?”
And Chrissy doesn’t answer—instead she reaches out and wraps her hand around his cock, and he supposes that’s a great answer, actually. His head rolls back, and he groans when she squeezes him in her hand, her thumb rubbing over the tip. She’s… her hand is so soft. Her hand is small and soft, and he feels like he’s burning alive.
“Okay,” he gasps, hissing a little when she squeezes him again. “Okay, okay, okay, I’ll come if you do that any longer.”
Chrissy laughs, but she lets go of him, flopping back into the mattress, spreading her legs and breathing out a small, little sound. Eddie climbs on top of her, tilting his head to catch her gaze, but she’s looking off to the side.
“Please,” she says, finally, looking back at him, and he swallows, moves so he’s between her legs. “I like it when you touch me. It makes me feel… safe.”
His chest warms up at that. And that’s great and all, but fuck, his cock hurts. His mouth is dry.
“Yeah?” he asks dumbly, brushing a hand over her hip. “Uh, can I—”
And he doesn’t need to finish his question, because she nods, and yeah, she’s told him as much already, huh? So Eddie grabs his cock and pushes it against her cunt, brushing it down her slit until she’s lifting her hips to help him, until the head of it bumps against her hole, and he groans against the slick friction, pushes his hips forward a little, until it slips inside.
Chrissy gasps, a throaty sound that makes him shiver, and she rolls her head back and into the pillow, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He waits a little, lets her breathe, then he pushes further inside, and further, until his hips touch hers and his face is hovering above hers, until her breath is ghosting over his face.
“Eddie,” she gasps, and there’s the sudden clawing urge inside of him to kiss her, so he does. Leans down and kisses her, and she meets it eagerly, her tongue brushing against his lips, causing his hips to twitch against hers.
“Fuck,” he groans, opening his mouth to push his tongue against hers, and she tastes like mint and something else, something that feels so much like her that it rushes through him like liquid gold. It’s a little hard to keep his balance like this, but he digs his hands into the mattress and bucks his hips against hers until they’re gasping in turn into each other’s mouths.
Her tongue feels nice against his. Hot, wet, soft, and it makes small sparks of pleasure rush through him when it brushes against his, so Eddie kisses her again, sucks in a breath through his nose and bucks his hips against hers once more, chasing this pleasure so big he doesn’t quite know how to handle it.
Yeah, it feels incredible. She’s as hot and slick around his cock as she was around his fingers, and by now, his head is truly spinning. His vision is blurry, so he moves his hips against hers blindly, rutting against her, gasping and groaning while he kisses her.
Somewhere along the way, Chrissy wrapped her arms around his neck, and he only notices when she pulls him closer, when she whines and lifts her hips against his, when she sucks at his bottom lip. Oh, fuck. His blood has never been pulsing like this, and he’s so fucking close already that it’s almost embarrassing.
He needs to pull away to breathe again. His breath is ragged by now, his chest heaving, and he leans his forehead against hers, groaning when she meets his thrust with a roll of her own hips.
“Chrissy,” he whines, pushing his hips against hers, again and again and again. He’s losing track of everything else. “Chrissy, Chrissy, ‘m close—”
Chrissy groans, her fingers digging into his back, and there’s the sharp feeling of her nails that makes him moan, that makes his vision swim.
“You need to pull out,” she manages to gasp out, and her voice is a little hoarse by now. Ruined. It makes him shiver. “You need to pull out, Eddie, you need to pull out—”
“I know,” he promises, and he tilts his head to press sloppy kisses to her cheek, as if to reassure her. At least he hopes it’s reassuring. “I know, I will, I—”
And he cuts himself off with a moan, his face slipping to the crook of her neck. Chrissy whines when he bucks his hips against hers a few times more, almost feverish by now, and her voice is a high pitch that sends him spinning. She’s whimpering, almost. It’s…
Soon enough he feels that familiar feeling of his orgasm nearing, and together with it comes a small panic bubbling up in his stomach. Quickly, he pulls out and presses his hips against hers, trapping his cock between both their stomachs—grinding a few times, blindly, gasping and moaning until sparks rush through his whole body, until he’s breathless and slumped down on top of her.
She’s gasping for breath, too. Eddie feels hot all over. His heart is racing in his chest and he thinks he can feel hers, too, where her breasts press to his skin.
Finally, when his mind clears up enough that he can think again, he lifts himself off her immediately, even as his arms protest. Worried, he glances at her, but she looks… relaxed. She’s smiling to herself. In fact, her arms are still around his neck, and her hand is brushing over his shoulders in small circles that make him prickle.
When he glances down, there’s his cum on her stomach. Something about that sight settles in his mind in a way he’s sure he won’t ever forget about.
“Uh,” he says, “I’ll get you something to clean up.”
Chrissy snickers. “Just give me your shirt. If that’s okay.”
And he swallows, nods, shifts off her (and he has to bite back a sound of disappointment when she lets go of him) and reaches off the bed to grab the Black Sabbath shirt—now apparently reduced to a cum rag, but hey, that’s not the first time one of his shirts has gotten misused like that. He watches her rub the black fabric over her stomach until she’s clean enough, then she tosses it on the floor again.
“Come lie with me.”
By now, Eddie doesn’t have it in him to resist anymore. Not that he’s done a particularly good job at that so far, so he slips under the blanket together with her as she gathers it, turning to face her as she does the same. She puts her hand under her cheek, smiling at him, and she’s so fucking cute that he could die.
“You taste like tobacco,” she says, as if that was the best thing in the world. “And weed.”
Eddie swallows. He doesn’t actually know how good of a taste that is for someone to make out with, but she seems decently happy, so he nuzzles into the pillow, hesitating only a moment before wrapping an arm around her waist.
“Yeah?”
Chrissy nods. “Yeah.”
And well, they can figure out the rest tomorrow, right? Figure out how to make sure she stays safe, most importantly, of course. Figure out how bad of an idea all of this was—though Eddie hopes the answer is none at all, in fact it was a great idea, but hey, he’s not going to get ahead of himself. He’s not.
He still kisses her good night. Hey, she’s the one who said him touching her makes her feel safe, alright?