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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years ago

Text

PART ONE

Eddie Munson x fem!reader[33K] summer camp, a few almost kisses, that friends to lovers shit and your own personal rule: no boys.

I’m beggin’ you to beg me

By the end of week four, some kids were complaining of homesickness and the younger campers had taken to latching onto some counsellors for comfort, which is how you found yourself with a new buddy. Seven year old Olivia Fredrickson held your hand at any given moment, her free one grasping at a teddy that looked like it had seen better days but the girl refused to leave it in her bunk.

She also refused to leave you.

And that’s how you found yourself being led across the camp, leaving the rest of your group with Chrissy in the gym hall as they attempted to master the cartwheel. Little Olivia edged towards the music workshop with a quiet nervousness, looking up at you with big, glassy eyes and a trembling lip. Her camp t-shirt was still a little too big, the hem of it near the bottom of her sunshine yellow shorts and she clasped her teddy to her chest as she quietly asked you for the fourth time that morning:

“Is it time to go home yet?”

You sighed sympathetically and crouched down, shins almost brushing the forest floor and you poked a soft finger to the girl’s nose. She was all blonde curls and flushed cheeks and despite her sadness, you couldn’t feel a tiny bit jealous.

You hadn’t missed home at all.

“Hey,” you spoke softly, voice kind and sweet, “don’t you wanna go play some instruments? With the other kids?”

Olivia shrugged.

“You know, it’s almost time to go home,” you told the young girl. “But there’s still lots of fun things to do first.”

From inside the cabin, you could hear the muted sounds of xylophones and pianos being played, off tune and a little haphazardly but the kids inside were laughing and Olivia’s ears perked up.

You followed her curious stare and gave her hand a little squeeze. “Why don’t we go inside and see what we can try, huh? And then later, we can ask Mr Hopper if we can call your mom, yeah? You can tell her all about your day?”

Maybe Eddie had happened to look out the window, maybe he just sensed you like some kind of magic, like some kind of magnet, but the boy appeared behind Olivia at the door. He lifted a hand in greeting, smile soft and brows furrowed a little in confusion but your stomach flipped and suddenly the sticky hands that slammed on the keys inside didn’t sound as jarring.

“Hey,” Eddie called out, smiling kindly at the younger girl. “Y’comin’ in?”

Olivia scooted closer, tucking herself and her bear into your chest. You straightened up, hands on her shoulders and you grimaced at Eddie and he nodded in understanding.

“You know Eddie, right, Livvy?” You shuffled forward, coaxing Olivia with you and she stared at the boy with wide, unsure eyes. “He’s gonna teach you to play some music, isn’t that cool?”

Eddie hunkered down to Olivia’s level and smiled wide and easy, dimples showing and he coaxed the girl forward with an exaggerated gasp.

“Is that your teddy bear?” He asked. Olivia nodded, her bear pressed under her chin and when she was assured you weren’t leaving, she took another step toward Eddie. “He’s real cute. D’you wanna see mine?”

Olivia looked intrigued, gazing up to you for more encouragement and when you nodded and smiled, she stepped towards Eddie and peered at what he was pointing at. He was plucking at his shirt, the tiny teddy bear patch on display by his name and Olivia lit up with delight, small fingers poking at the bear's nose.

“What’s his name?” She whispered to Eddie, smiling more than you’d seen her in the last few days.

“Oh, uh, well,” Eddie stuttered and his gaze flickered to you as you tried to hide your grin. He seemed flustered, pink around the cheeks and it was almost too much to handle. “His name is, uh, Bee— Beelzebub?”

You snorted out a laugh that you had to hide behind your hand. “Jesus Christ,” you muttered under your breath.

“Beez, for short,” Eddie explained quickly but Olivia’s attention span had waned and she was too busy looking over Eddie’s shoulder at the kids who were inside, sticky hands and concentrated stares set on multicoloured xylophones and mini drum sets.

“Can I try?” She asked politely, already edging through the door.

“Yeah,” Eddie grinned, pleased at her change of attitude, “yeah, ‘course you can kiddo, go grab something to play.”

Olivia disappeared into the crowd and the noise, teddy bear dragged behind her by one grubby paw and you turned to Eddie who looked triumphant.

“Beezlebub?” You grinned and he groaned, batting at your hand that reached out to poke at his side playfully. “Really?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled but there wasn’t any heat behind his words. “I panicked.”

“I noticed.”

Eddie shoved his hands in his pockets and you tried not to notice how he was a little more tanned than last week, the summer spent outside finally making him less pale than normal, the flush of his cheeks making his eyes look like honey.

“You doin’ anything?” He asked, squinting at you like the sun was too bright but you’d come to learn that he did it when he was nervous, when he wanted to come across more casual than he felt.

“Uh, not really, I guess?” You cleared your throat, kicked at a pinecone and shit, maybe you were as bad an actor as Eddie was. “Chrissy is finishing up at the gym and I was supposed to help Joyce with some filing later but…”

“But?” Eddie raised his brows, expectant.

“I have some time,” you told him quietly.

Eddie beamed.

A crowd of campers passed you both on the path, two by two and followed up from Steve as he led them back from a hike and the older boy spotted you both, doe eyed and staring at each other. He snorted to himself, kept an eye on the kids as they made their way back to the campfire circle and he only hesitated once before he cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled out:

“And I can’t fight this feeling anymore!”

Eddie’s eyes snapped from you to his friend, back straightening and cheeks on fire as he glared at Steve. It really didn’t help when the kids just assumed he was starting some weird kind of singalong, and a girl called Susie sang the next line.

“I’ve forgotten what I started fighting foooor!” She looked too proud at knowing the lyrics and Steve cackled, leaning down to slap his hand to hers in encouragement.

You didn’t get a chance to ask questions when Eddie flipped Steve off, face beaming with pink as he ushered you inside the music workshop with a hand in the small of your back.

You spent the next hour there, flitting between helping kids play twinkle twinkle on the xylophone and standing too close to Eddie, laughing at his stupid jokes and pressing a hand to his chest when he tried to coax you into learning the guitar.

But the tannoy for lunch sounded and the mess hall doors opened as the kids ran out, sunshine bouncing off of their heads and then you and Eddie were alone. Instruments were strewn across the floor and Olivia had forgotten her teddy, the bear splayed across a tiny keyboard and the sight made you smile.

And then Eddie was coaxing a guitar into your arms again with a grin and despite your weak protests, you took the shiny red thing into your hands and smiled too. Maybe it was the quiet that had settled over the camp, maybe it was the feeling of being alone in the mess, the room scattered with sunlight and the shadows of the trees, maybe it was the warmth.

Maybe it was just Eddie. Maybe that’s all it took.

‘Cause the boy was leaning against a table as he nodded his head encouragingly at you, telling you chords and letters that didn’t mean anything to you, not really. And his voice was soft and gentle, fingers pointing out strings and where to place your hands until eventually he was coaxing you forward, his hand curled around your wrist and you followed without any hesitation.

You let him guide you into him, every movement slow and gentle, waiting for you to stop him, giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t, you just held your breath and grasped the guitar a little too tight as Eddie spread his legs and manoeuvred you to stand between them, your back to his chest.

Despite the heat outside and the sun that had no clouds to hide behind, he smelled like a summer storm, like fresh rain and pine and something spicy. His curls tickled your cheek and he glanced at you from the sides of his eyes, a fleeting gaze under his lashes before he hooked his chin over your shoulder and brought his arms around your sides. He rested his hands on yours, fingers twining, moving you from string to string as he murmured softly about scales and open chords.

You didn’t take any of it in. You hardly heard a word. You let him move you like putty, soft and pliant under his touch, getting warmer by the second at the feel of him behind you. Eventually Eddie stopped talking and he stopped playing pretend, both of you acutely aware you weren’t paying attention, but still, he kept his hands over yours, used your fingers between his own to pluck out a pretty tune and you felt his smile against your cheek the entire time.

You couldn’t remember a time where you’d felt like this before. When your body felt electric, live wires for veins, when you felt like a kid with your first crush. So you leaned back into his solid frame, kept your eyes on his rings, the glint of them that had turned gold in the sunlight. Eddie hummed a tune you didn’t know, didn’t recognise, but it was soft and smoky and sweet and it sounded like it was just for you.

You decided it was your new favourite song.

You only broke apart when Robin slammed a hand against the window, a smug grin on her face as you heard her muffled laugh behind the glass, her eyebrows raised at Eddie’s pink cheeks, your wide eyes.

“Hey, lovers,” she called out and her voice sounded tinny from outside. “Hop’s calling a meeting, ten minutes.”

So Eddie cleared his throat and hung up the guitar as you tried not to meet Robin’s knowing gaze, both of you stumbling around each other until the boy opened the door and you both fell into the sun.

—————

Hopper’s cabin was almost full, Joyce, Bob and Jason still chaperoning in the mess hall but the rest of the counsellors tittered and snorted when you and Eddie rushed in, still looking flushed.

Hopper sighed and rubbed his eyes, not wanting to know why Eddie was blushing and your chest was heaving but Murray looked up from his clipboard and took you both in with narrowed eyes.

He set Jim with a knowing stare before going back to his list and asking mildly, “do we need another jar?”

The room exploded, muffled laughter hidden behind hands as Eddie turned beetroot and Steve rolled his eyes. You turned to ask if you’d missed another joke but Eddie looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him, so you decided against it.

“It was one kayak,” Hawkins muttered from the windowsill, sitting cross legged with her fingers tucked into Steve’s collar.

“Two,” Hopper shot back.

The girl opened her mouth to argue back but seemed to remember something that brought a flush to her cheeks and thought better of it.

“Anyway,” Murray announced, tucking his clipboard under his arm and clapping his hands together. “Quick meeting ‘cause the gremlins will be released in five minutes and God forbid they wander the wilderness unsupervised.”

“God forbid,” Hopper muttered quietly from behind his computer screen.

Murray pretended he didn’t hear and continued, “the big game starts tomorrow and after too many complaints that hide and seek is going on far too long—”

“That’s ‘cause some people think that hiding on the gym roof is a good idea,” Nancy rolled her eyes.

“Hey, that was a great idea,” Argyle countered. “Y’all are just jealous that you lack the creative and imaginative ingenuity that comes with smo—”

“No roofs,” Murray cut in. “And no smoking, Jesus Christ. In fact, we’re mixing it up and we’re playing sardines this year. Anyone who doesn’t know how to play, better learn damn quick.”

And without any other explanation, the man grinned and brandished a bunch of straws, holding them out in his fist until every camp counsellor had picked one. There were a few whispered celebrations amongst groans as shorter and shorter straws were drawn. But your face fell as you held out a straw that was barely an inch long and Murray’s grin widened.

“Go fish.”

—————

“So I’m the only one hiding?” You asked Robin for the third time. “This isn’t some hazing thing for the new person, is it?”

Robin snorted and shook her head, pulling Will backwards by the scruff of his shirt before he walked straight into a clump of poison ivy. The kids were restless, rippling with excitement and too much energy as they congregated by the unlit fire pit, the afternoon sun beaming down on everyone.

“No,” she told you with a grin, “besides, you’re five weeks in, Michigan, you’ve survived, you’re not the new kid anymore.”

You certainly didn’t feel like it, the weeks of summer giving you long days, light nights and an achingly familiar feeling of something you’d thought you’d once lost. Camp felt like childhood, the other staff members greeting you every morning like an old friend, strawberry smoothies in the mess hall, pancakes on Fridays and Sundays spent waist deep in the lake.

And even though Robin and Nancy had explained the rules to you twice before, you still listened when Murray announced the rules, standing on a rock in front of the crowd of kids and counsellors, bullhorn in hand.

“Okay, we’re having two games only, ‘cause lord knows how long these things drag on, okay? If the game ain’t done by nightfall, we’re leaving you all outside for the coyotes.”

The kids all jeered and yelled their protests at this, which made Murray smile, one that was noticeably more fond than you’d seen before.

“Yeah, yeah,” Murray droned, “that’s illegal, we know. Anyway! Two games, one hider from the kids and then one staff member!” He shot out a hand that pointed to you and he grinned, “we’ve already got sardine number one, who’s gonna be our second little fishy?”

The kids clamoured, yelling out names and raising their hands as they tried to get Murray’s attention until he eventually clamped a hand over his eyes and pointed blindly into the crowd.

Some cheered, some groaned, but Will stepped forward with a push of encouragement from Mike and Max. He waved, tried to look brave and Murray ruffled his hair.

“Okay! Byers is up first! You know the rules, Will is gonna get a minute to hide before everyone else gets let loose. When you find him, you gotta hide too, so Will, be smart about it. Last one to find everyone else gets thrown in the lake.”

Joyce appeared at Murray’s side, looking affronted. She grabbed the bullhorn and shook her head, speaking in a panic. “No! No, no, no one is getting thrown in the lake. We don’t do that, Murray, for god's sake—”

But Murray just grinned and grabbed the megaphone right back. “Don’t be stupid about it, no roofs, no vehicles, don’t actually go into the lake for the love of god and Christ, stay out of the kitchen too. Bob will have my head.”

And then the game started on a whistle, the entirety of the camp facing the lake in a crowd of rippling excitement as Will took off running in the opposite direction. Everyone counted to sixty, a heavy chant that built the tension in the air and as everyone hit forty four, you looked across the sea of kids and found Eddie, already looking at you.

He smiled and you grinned, unabashed and unable to help it, biting your lip when he beamed wider, winking for good measure. But then the counting got louder as the numbers got lower and suddenly everyone was yelling ‘one!’

You were pushed as the kids scattered, laughing with the rest of the staff as the campers took off across the forest floor, weaving in and out of buildings as they searched for Will. It was a surprisingly quick game, with Steve taking one for the team and deeming himself the loser, the boy humming to himself as he wandered around the camp, blindly pretending he didn’t see the sixty or so kids lined up behind the kayak stands, legs sticking out and trainers stuck in rope lines.

And then it was your turn, much to the kids' enjoyment. Eddie appeared at your side as everyone ran back to the lake, ready for another countdown and the boy placed a hand on the small of your back, a barely there touch with just his fingertips but it was searing.

“I don’t wanna brag, but I’m pretty sure I’ll manage to find you,” he whispered with a smile, crowding down a little so his lips could find your ear.

You tried to act cool, tried to act casual, but it was hard not to smile around the boy, that cheeks sore, eyes too bright, kinda grin. And Eddie saw right through you anyway, smiling at you the same way until you cracked and rolled your eyes at him, pushing him away playfully just as an excuse to put your hands to his stomach.

“What if I wanted you to?” You answered, feeling braver than you ever had and maybe it was ‘cause the sun was setting, maybe it was because you still feel the way Eddie’s hand had felt against the smell of your back.

Maybe it was because you’d never been able to stop thinking what it would be like to kiss him. To try.

Eddie stared, lips parted, brows raised, looking a little shocked, a little dumb, but just as pretty. You watched him blink, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed and before he could say something - say anything - Hopper’s whistle blew shrilly in the air.

“Munson!” Hopper barked and the kids jumped. So did Eddie. “I don’t have any more damn jars. Get in line.”

Eddie stumbled off, looking back at you over his shoulder, a smile appearing as well as a rosy flush across his cheeks, your words registering with him more and more. He stood amongst the kids, gazing at you one last time before everyone had to face the lake and count and god, he looked like a man on a mission.

The kids started counting and you felt giddy with it, your chest tight as you tore across camp, old leaves and called pine cones crunching under your feet. The sun was only just starting to set, the cabins turning gold, rainbows on the glass windows, the shadows of the trees a navy blue, a deep lavender. You felt ready to burst, a new kind of excitement curling around your bones and oh my god, you didn’t know if it was because of the game or the boy.

And maybe you knew the answer already, subconsciously or not, because you didn’t hesitate to turn through the trees, past the mess hall, past the gym, jumping over fallen logs and leftover puddles, heading straight for the music workshop where Robin had stolen you from hours before.

You could hear everyone counting as you squeezed in behind the shelving unit, tambourines and tiny cymbals tinkling at your movements. But half of it was hidden with an old chalkboard, rolls of forgotten music posters, a broken amp or two and the space behind it all created a narrow alley of shorts for you to shuffle into. So you pressed yourself there, against the wall and the mess until the chanting got louder and you felt like you were ready to scream with it all.

‘Five!’

You liked Eddie Munson.

‘Four!’

You liked him a lot.

‘Three!’

You really, really wanted to kiss him.

‘Two!’

And that was okay.

‘One!’

You were allowed to feel that way, you told yourself. It was okay. Suddenly, the voice in your head started to sound more like your own and less like your mothers and Jesus Christ, the realisation made you blow out a shaky breath, laughter coating the edges of it.

Eventually, after a deathly quietness after the last number was shouted, you heard the faint sounds of tiny feet running across the forest floor. Some yelled to their friends, others whispered and you froze when you heard the door open, three pairs of sneakers coming into view from between stacked books and broken xylophones. But whoever had entered the workshop, deemed it empty, and all three ran back out without spotting you.

This happened another two times, kids running in, too excited to take their time, only checking the obvious spots like the storage cupboard and under tables, behind Eddie’s drum kit. The sun kept setting and the lights were off, the workshop looking very much closed for the night as the day turned rosy, the last of the sunlight streaming through the windows to paint hazy, pink stripes across the walls and floors.

The door opened a fourth time, a slow squeak, and the footsteps that entered seemed heavier than before. They were slow, calculated and you held your breath, wondering, waiting, wanting.

Black converse came into view, too big to belong to a camper and you peeled out from behind a stack of textbooks, catching sight of Eddie as he leisurely weaved his way between tables and stacked chairs, the drum kit and the guitar stands.

He was smiling, you could see it, and it made you smile too ‘cause you knew that he knew, that you were there and it made him feel like you were waiting just for him.

Eventually, Eddie walked towards the shelves you were hiding behind, fingertips running over the ledges of it, rings catching at the stored instruments every now and then, making them sing for him. And once he reached you, he found your eyes in the gaps and grinned, leaning all causal against the shelf.

“Well look at that,” he tutted, all faux disappointment. “Looks like it’s just you and me so far.”

You smiled, leaned back against the wall and set him a gaze that made his chest go a little tight. “Oh no,” you deadpanned, trying your best to hide how pleased you were.

You smothered your laughter as Eddie tried to squeeze in beside you, cursing under his breath as more kids ran past the cabin, close to the windows across from your hiding spot. But none came in, some shouting at others to start checking the bunks and Eddie sidestepped his way towards you, his back to the wall.

There really wasn’t a lot of room.

“You know why they call it sardines?” He asked quietly as he made his way carefully towards you.

He was getting closer, knees brushing posters that became more creased than they had been but Eddie didn’t seem to mind.

You swallowed, hands curling at your sides, skimming your bare legs as you fiddled with the hem of your shorts.

“Why?”

Eddie waited until he was settled into place beside you before answering, turning with a little difficulty until he was toe to toe with you, only a breath apart. He smiled, close enough that you could smell his cologne, leftover smoke, that storm weather scent that seemed to stick to him.

“S’cause you gotta pack in together real close.” He whispered and his breath across your lips felt like a kiss. Your lashes fluttered, your lips parted. “Like a tin of sardines, get it?”

You nodded, not willing to speak for fear of your voice wavering and Eddie seemed to sense some sort of nervousness, an uncertainty and he mistook it for something it wasn’t. He backed off, one foot behind the other as he tried to move away, stumbling a little.

“Sorry, too close, my ba—”

He was cut off when you caught him, a hand reaching out to pluck boldly at the front of his shirt, fingers curled there as you coaxed him back. You tugged, gentle, eyes a little wide as you looked up at him and hoped he got the message. Eddie froze, looking at you with the same wonderment that he did before, when you told him you wanted him to catch you. But he came to a lot quicker this time, righting himself before moving back to you, until his shoes brushed yours and your hand was pressed between your body and his.

The kids were still yelling outside but it sounded like they were underwater. Or maybe you were, you weren’t sure. Eddie held your gaze and you felt the way his stomach flexed under your touch, his chest heaving and falling as he tried to right his breathing. He whispered your name and you closed your eyes.

You felt rather than saw him crowd you, his T-shirt riding up his waist as he stretched his arms out to lean against the shelves behind you, closing you in, coming closer still. Every movement was slow and careful, like he was prepared for you to stop him, to push him away, but your hand only tightened in his shirt, the cotton trapped in your closed fist and you wondered what it would take for you to let him go.

“I’ve been thinking,” you whispered, licking at your bottom lip and you dared open your eyes, gaze heavy and Eddie was so close, you could see the way the sunlight caught his lashes.

Eddie followed the movement with hooded eyes, copying you without realising, his tongue peeking out and swiping across his lip too. “Yeah?” He prompted. He sounded hopeful, nervous.

“That maybe it’d be nice to try,” you started, voice soft and quiet like you were telling him a secret and you hoped then more than ever that you’d never be found, wanting to be trapped here forever, pressed against Eddie. “More than nice,” you corrected and god your throat felt thick and your tongue felt too clumsy in your mouth.

“More than nice,” Eddie repeated and he was smiling, smiling so wide and you could hear it in his voice, the happiness, the shy kind of flirt that made your toes curl. “That sounds promising.”

His hand found yours, fingers tangling to pull your grip from his shirt, only to hold your palm against his. You wondered if he could feel your pulse, your heartbeat that seemed to thrum through your entire body. You weren’t sure how, but he pulled you closer.

“It does, doesn’t it?” You smiled, leaning in, chest pressed to Eddie’s, foreheads kissing like they had in the front seat of his van. You liked the word, ‘promising’. It sounded hopeful, it sounded new and different, like it could offer up a whole other world for you.

Maybe it could.

You weren’t sure who closed their eyes first, maybe you, maybe the boy. But you both went on touch, on sense, instincts telling you which way to tilt your head, noses bumping in the softest way, pushed to cheeks as Eddie’s hand squeezed to yours and it felt like he was telling you it was all okay.

He spoke, eyes still shut, lashes brushing over yours, lips almost almost almost grazing your own with each word.

“I don’t want you to do this if you don’t want to, if you’re not ready,” he whispered and his voice cracked just a little, brows furrowing even though you couldn’t see. A curl brushed your cheek and you leaned in closer, legs bumping his, knees knocking. “I don’t wanna rush you or make you feel like you gotta—”

“You’re not, Eddie,” you urged softly, forehead pressed to his, like you were willing him to believe it. “I just— I just started thinking about all the things that I wanted for a change.”

He waited, lips parted, head tilted to yours. He breathed in what you breathed out and your grip on his hand got tighter, ‘cause suddenly everything felt so intense you were scared you’d float away, that you’d have to let him go. It might’ve taken you a couple of weeks, but shit, you realised that you really, really didn’t want to let Eddie go.

“There’s a voice inside my head,” you told him, “and not to sound crazy, but it’s starting to sound a lot kinder now. More like myself, like it used to sound a long time ago.” You felt the uptick of Eddie’s cheek against your own, a smile you couldn’t see because it was so much easier to pour your heart out when your eyes were closed.

Eddie hummed, a sweet reassuring sound that made you sway into him, your top lip catching the edge of his chin and his breath hitched and you held yours and everything was burning burning burning.

“What’s it saying?” Eddie asked and his hands left the shelf, left yours, so they could come to rest at your waist, gentle at first, almost too soft to feel. But you let out a little noise, and Eddie seemed to understand, ‘cause he gripped you a little firmer, fingers splayed wide across your sides before they dropped at your shirt and held you close. “This nice voice?”

He dropped his head, eyes half open, heavy and hooded and he nosed at your jaw, smiled when you let the motion tip your head back for him. You were softer than butter under his touch, your hands coming to fist at the material just under his collar, eyes scrunched shut and lips parting. Eddie ran the tip of his nose along your jaw, barely touching, no kissing, but it was enough for you to cling to him.

Someone outside yelled and there were footsteps on the stairs, a thudthudthud that you both barely heard before they turned and ran the other way. The forest was in chaos but you and Eddie didn’t seem to notice.

“C’mon sweetheart, you’re awfully quiet,” he whispered and maybe it was the small space, maybe it was the broken guitar stand that was digging into your back but you shifted until Eddie’s knee slipped between your own.

You didn’t do anything, neither did he and it was dirty, not really. But Jesus Christ, it was far from innocent too.

You swallowed, thick sound that you were sure Eddie would’ve heard and it made your cheeks burn hot. Opening your eyes, you found him closer than you remembered him ever being, all wild curls and dark brown eyes, gaze bouncing from yours to your lips and back again.

“It’s saying I could go to art school,” you whispered and your voice shook but you kept your eyes open this time, looking up at the boy through your lashes. You felt your heart rattling in your ribs, a vibration that made everything buzz and shit, maybe you could feel Eddie’s too. “That I could leave Michigan, find someplace new.”

Eddie smiled, a real, soft, genuine smile that made your heart ache and he nodded, nose brushing and he hummed, the prettiest sound. You pressed to your toes, eager, growing needy for something you hadn’t yet been given.

“Anything else?”

You grinned, head tipped back and face tilted up to him, cheeks aching with the joy of it all, that feeling of floating, flirting, all of it without shame or guilt or consequence. You pulled him closer still, wishing you could tangle yourself around him, wishing you felt brave enough to push your fingers into his curls but but but… not yet.

“It’s saying I could kiss that boy I like, maybe let him take me on a date, if he wanted to.” You said it so shyly, as if you weren’t wrapped around each other, like Eddie’s lips weren’t hovering over yours, stealing every word you spoke like they were only for him.

They were.

“If he wanted to?” Eddie asked and his voice was lower and raspier, like whisky and honey, sweet and sticky. “Sweetheart, he’d have to stupid not to.”

You shrugged, eyes bright, stomach swooping. “He has his moments.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh, quiet and happy and you wanted to swallow the sound whole. “You’re mean,” he teased but there was nothing but affection coating his tone and it made you softer against him still, hands moving up his chest to cling to his neck, fingers catching curls with the intention of bringing his face down to yours.

“M’sorry,” you whispered back and you really didn’t sound sorry at all, not when Eddie was letting you guide you to his lips, not when he was gripping your waist that little bit tighter, arms around you to pull you to your toes, body flush against him.

He said your name, soft and lovely, a pretty, pretty noise and you could practically taste it. You sighed, longing, wanting.

“Eddie.”

Your lips touched his, a brush, a barely there kiss, heads tilting, hands gripping almost too hard but you didn’t care, how could you? ‘Cause Eddie was letting out a small sigh, a moan and it sounded like your name again.

And then:

The sound of the door slamming against the wall, the stomping of feet, the shrill, high pitched shriek of a whistle. You leapt back, with hardly any room to move, the shelves rattling, tambourines and old drumsticks falling on top of you and the boy. Eddie yelped, grabbing at your waist before you could fall backwards and despite the way Hopper was glaring at you through the spaces in the shelves, you couldn’t find it in yourself to think of anything but the way your lips were tingling.

“You didn’t hear the whistle?!” Hopper yelled, face red, eyes wide. “Office! Now!”

—————

“Twenty minutes!” Hopper fumed, leaning over his office desk in exasperation, “twenty minutes I blew that goddamn whistle. You could’ve been dead for all we knew.”

Murray, who was lounging on the sofa, snorted.

“Okay,” Eddie grimaced, “that’s a little dramatic, no?”

You were too embarrassed to argue, half hiding behind Eddie who had no problem waving his arms about and talking back to Hopper. But he was as flushed as you felt, cheeks pink and eyes still a little dazed looking.

“You’re both supposed to be responsible counsellors, looking after the kids,” Hopper said, his voice a low growl and god, the vein in his forehead was pulsing. “Not making out against the stacks!”

You cringed, stepping out from behind Eddie to wince at Hopper’s stare. “We weren’t making out, I swear—”

“Not yet, you weren’t,” Murray muttered. Eddie spun to glare at the other man but before he could say anything, Murray patted his shoulder and stood next to Hop. “Calm down, curls, you’re still lookin’ a little flushed.”

And before either of you could retort, Murray chucked the marker onto Hop’s desk and grinned, staring at you both with smugness as he slammed down his creation. Another jar, a little smaller than the one it sat next too, with a fresh sticker on the front. In sharp, bold letters, it read:

‘Therapy $$$’

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie muttered, eyes rolling and before you could ask what the deal was with the goddamn jars, Hopper straightened up and sighed, pointing at his office door.

“Out,” he demanded.

“Hop, look—”

“Out.”

So you let Eddie grab your hand, feet shuffling and lips bitten to hide the smiles that Murray could see. You both tumbled out the door, into the forest, where the night had taken the day, the lake a mirror, the sky a deep shade of violet.

You met Eddie’s gaze and you saw the grin there, your favourite one that took over his whole face, sunshine even when the moon was out. He barked out a laugh, sharp and sweet, laughing even harder when you groaned and covered your face with your hands, embarrassment leaking out.

But then Eddie’s hands were wrapping around your wrists and pulling, his smile meeting yours and he was kissing you kissing you kissing you. A real kiss, one that made your bottom lip slip between his, your hands catching over his own, smoothing over them until you managed to grab at his jaw and pull him down to you.

He tasted like cherry cola, like smoke and mint gum. Like sunshine and rain storms and a first crushes, like something hopeful, like everything you’d wanted for so long.

It was the sweetest of kisses, tentative and shy until it wasn’t, noses pressed too hard against each other's cheeks ‘cause close wasn’t close enough. Eddie’s hands were in your hair, over the slope of your jaw, the back of your neck, the dip in your waist. And you were walking backwards, pulled flush against him, lips on parting to breathe against the other's mouth and suddenly it wasn’t as shy as before.

You were lucky it was dark, the campfire pit barely still burning, a faint glow in the patch of black before the lake. You could hear the kids, but couldn’t see them, the hushed dim of whispers and the electronic beeps of handheld games coming from the cabins and you were thankful Eddie knew the camp better than you did. He led you through the forest, away from the main paths that wound their way through the bunks, past the windows of the campers.

He avoided each fallen log, laughed into your mouth when you squeaked and almost kicked a too big rock but you clung to him tighter in response and god, he fell quiet at that. Big hands on your waist, fingertips sneaking out to brush over the skin under your shirt, his lips on your neck, feet stumbling with yours.

“My cabin is empty,” you whispered into the kiss, lips parting for Eddie when he nipped at them, tongue soothing over the sting and you realised you’d stay out here all night with him if he asked you to. “But yours is closer.”

So you both stumbled through the cabin door like wrecking balls attached at the mouth and making Steve yelp in surprise. There was no kindness to the way Eddie yelled at him to get out, just impatience mixed with Steve’s panic, his fright leaking into a smugness that made your face flush but still, you clung to Eddie as the boy chased his roommate outside.

It was comical, the way Steve dodged Eddie’s hands and feet, edging around the furniture as he grinned wildly and grabbed his shoes, his sweater. Eddie cursed and Steve laughed, diving into the small bathroom for his toothbrush as he yelled at you both.

“And I can’t fight this feeling anymore!”

“Harrington, get the fuck out.”

Steve ignored him. “Is Careless Whisper on the mixtape?” He didn’t give Eddie a chance to answer, instead throwing himself into a awfully high pitched rendition of the guitar solo.

The boy didn’t leave until Eddie manhandled him out, muttering about last summer and how he owed him this. Steve let his friend shove at him, belongings clutched to his chest that he was most likely taking to his girlfriend's cabin and he grinned at you cheerfully.

“Use protection!”

Eddie slammed the door, locking it for good measure as he leaned against it, eyes on yours and his cheeks flushed.

“I am so sorry—”

“There’s a mixtape?” You smiled, squinting at the boy shyly, like you were afraid to ask in fear of being told no.

Eddie nodded, looking pinker than ever.

“Is it for me?”

The boy nodded again, stepping away from the door to cup your neck in his hands, goosebumps erupting as he smoothed your hair away with gentle fingers. “I was supposed to give you it ages ago,” he murmured. “But I chickened out.”

“Does it have Careless Whisper on it?” You asked, biting down on a smile when Eddie groaned and rolled his eyes, all fond and affectionate, squeezing gently at the back of your neck.

“No, it doesn’t,” he huffed but he was fighting a smile too, nose scrunched, dimple showing.

“What about REO Speedwagon?” You ventured, grin threatening to break free cause Eddie flushed pink and pressed his face to your hair, groaning even louder.

“Yes,” he admitted, “shut up.”

You beamed and Eddie’s heart throbbed with it, ‘cause you were all lit up in the prettiest way, uncaring, all affection, touching him and letting him touch you.

“That’s not very metal of you, Teddy,” you teased, smoothing your hands up his chest, over his shoulders and neck, pushing up on your toes as you brought him back down to you.

He didn’t need much coaxing.

He grumbled, but it sounded too soft and his nose pushed against yours, a sweet gesture that you weren’t sure you’d be able to get used to. , “Don’t you start that,” he said but there wasn’t as much annoyance behind it as he wanted, in fact, there was none at all.

“Oh, so only Dustin gets to call you that, huh?” You smiled, tapping the little patch on his chest. “I see how it—”

Eddie cut you off with a kiss, one that was slower than the rest, deeper, softer, more sure, more intense. He licked at the seam of your lips, groaning quietly when you parted them for him and you felt the sound in his chest, the vibrations of it under your hands and it made you push yourself closer.

He kissed you lazy, languid, tongue licking over yours, hand coming up to cradle your jaw so he could tilt your face the way he wanted to, the way that would let him kiss you deeper still.

He pulled back, just for a second, just enough to press his forehead to yours and tell you with half lidded eyes, “I’d let you call me whatever you wanted, you have no ide—”

The confession was enough for you to push yourself back to him, mouth pressed to his as you coaxed him backwards, hands in his curls until his knees hit his mattress and he sat on the edge of the bed. It was easy to follow him, to drop into his lap and let Eddie pull your waist until your knees were digging into his rumpled sheets and you could feel all of him underneath you.

It was even easier to kiss him until your jaw ached, until your lips were swollen and kiss pink, matching Eddie’s cheeks, his hair wild from the way you’d been tugging at it. And he was hard against you, so, so hard; his cock trapped under the denim of his jeans and you couldn’t help but rock yourself over the outline of it, fingers fisting his shirt in your hands every time he made a pretty noise for you.

Maybe it was the noises you were making for him too, desperate and needy, maybe Eddie was just getting braver but his hands slipped from where they were balanced on your hips, skimming down the denim of your shorts until he was grabbing handfuls of your ass and moaning low into your mouth. He pulled you over his lap, a slow grind that made you whine and the boy tipped his head back, panting heavily.

“Is this okay?” He gasped out, “shit, we don’t have to— fuck, is this too much?”

Maybe it was. Maybe more time needed to pass between you deciding that you should’ve never given yourself rules and throwing yourself at the boy, but Jesus Christ, you found that you didn’t care. You had a week left of camp, a week left with Eddie and this is what you wanted. There were no consequences to having fun, no one to tell you off, no one to break your heart — ‘cause how could he? When he was looking at you like that?

Like you’d hung the moon, like you’d given him the sun, the stars, tiny glittering gifts just for him.

You were panting like he was, chest heaving, lips swollen and parted, leaning back into him like you didn’t dare be apart for too long. You shook your head, lips brushing over Eddie’s and you smiled at his sigh, swallowed it with another kiss.

“No, no,” you whispered, “s’not too much. But— d’you, do you wanna stop? We can stop if you wanna stop.” You were rambling.

Eddie whined at the idea of it, gripping the soft dough of your flesh a little tighter, like he didn’t wanna let go. His fingertips skimmed the hem of your shorts, pressing into the bare skin where your thighs met your ass and it felt searing, like a brand.

He shook his head, eyes darting from your lips to your eyes and he looked a little wrecked, pupils blown wide and jaw tensing. “Don’t wanna stop,” he whispered back. “Wanna make you feel good.”

You sighed, breath stuttering and eyes fluttering shut at the thought of Eddie touching more of you and you were melting for him, head tilting back too easily as he moved his face to the crook of your neck. You felt like cotton candy, fizzing at the feel of his lips on your throat, all sugar sweet.

Eddie pressed kisses to the line of your neck, over your jaw when he ran out of room, soft, slow, open mouthed pressed of his lips and you felt his smile against you when you shivered.

“Can I do that?” He asked you softly, a barely there question that you felt on your skin rather than heard. “Can I make you feel good? Can I try?”

You sucked in a breath and nodded, let Eddie kiss you soft and sweet in reply, his lips moving over yours in a way that made you dizzy. And then he was shifting under you, letting you slide from his lap and onto his bed as he turned, coaxing you down until you were lying against his sheets.

You made a noise of disapproval when he tried to move too far from you, hands on his jaw as you tried to steal more kisses, his smile obvious against your lips. So he gave you what you wanted, kissed you slow and soft until you relaxed under his touch and he could smooth his hand over the soft of your stomach without you tensing underneath him. And when you turned greedy again, breath hitching and teeth nipping at his bottom lip, he flattened his palm and ran it over the waistband of your shorts, fingers stopping at the button.

“Can I?” He asked, pulling away to look at you, expression sincere and earnest. Eddie licked his lips, chasing the taste of you, his whole body vibrating with the way you were looking up at him, hair wild, eyes wide. “Is this okay?”

You nodded, suddenly nervous, ‘cause you wanted this - you really did - but it had been a while since you’d been touched this way, since you’d been in bed with someone, since you’d had hands and fingers on yourself that weren’t your own.

Maybe Eddie sensed that, maybe he was just as nervous as you were, but he took it slow, kissed you sweet and senseless, his fingers trailing over the seam of the denim before he popped the button. It was the loudest sound in the room, the loudest sound you ever heard and your body was electric, Eddie’s touch a shockwave.

“Jus’ tell me to stop, if you want,” Eddie murmured, forehead pressed to yours as he gazed down at your, brown eyes searching, looking for regret or discomfort or any sign that you didn’t want this.

He couldn’t find any.

His fingertips skimmed the edge of your underwear, the cold of his rings flat against your tummy and you arched up to kiss him, once, twice, reassuring both him and yourself. “Keep going,” you told him quietly.

Slow and gentle, Eddie slid his hand down, stretching out your underwear, all cotton and lace as his hand snuck underneath. His hand was warm and almost too big, cupping the entirety of you and you gasped at it, at the feel of the slight pressure pressed against your cunt and Eddie froze, staring down at you, wide eyed.

“Y’okay?”

You closed your eyes, embarrassed, overwhelmed, nose scrunched and lips tucked between your teeth before you were able to speak. “Yeah, fuck, yeah, s’good, Eddie — s’just been a while.”

He smiled, soft and understanding and he nodded, kissing at your cheek, your nose, the corner of your mouth until you relaxed against him. “S’alright,” he assured, “it’s been a while for me too, I’ll go slow, yeah? C'mere, sweetheart.”

Eddie coaxed you closer, shuffling on his narrow bunk until he could slip his free arm under your head, letting you slump in against him, soft and lazy with pleasure. He moved his other hand, fingers pressing a little more until they slipped through your folds and he moaned at the feel of you, wet with want and anticipation.

You made a soft noise for him, face pressing into his chest as you clung to the front of his shirt and Eddie watched you, head tilted down to take in the way you scrunched your features in pleasure, knees falling apart a little more.

“There you go,” he whispered and god, he sounded pretty, voice hoarse and low and a little rough, like you’d already ruined him. “Tell me what you like, yeah? Tell me what to do, babe.”

Babe.

His fingers found your clit, sliding over it soft with two fingers; easy, gentle circles that felt hypnotising, making you sink further into the bed, further into the boy. Eddie listened to the way your breath hitched and the way you gasped, obeying immediately when you whined quietly and told him: “higher, please.”

His fingers swept up, just a little, pressing down a little more firmly when you keened in approval and Eddie pushed his hands further into your shorts so he could slip a digit inside of you, swearing at the way you immediately clenched down on his finger, taking it right down to his ring.

“Yeah?” He asked and you nodded, quick enough that he huffed out a laugh, but it wasn’t unkind.

You took a minute to pull back from where you’d hid in his chest, gazing up at him with glazed over eyes and a slack jaw, breathing growing heavier the more he pumped his finger in and out of you. Eddie looked just as fucked out, cheeks all flushed and he couldn’t stop staring, eyes roaming over your face and the way your chest rose and fell faster and faster, how your thighs tightened around his wrist.

It was the most innocent thing, the way you were both fully dressed, your shorts unzipped and Eddie’s hand pushed into your underwear, nothing uncovered, nothing to be seen. But he was looking at you like he was about to lose it, thumb circling over your clit the way you told him you liked as he pushed another finger to join the first and the stretch of it was hot and wet and it made you moan something filthy.

It was innocent in the dirtiest way.

And then you were keening higher and higher, breath a gasp, forehead pushed to Eddie’s as you pulled him back to you, making him hover over you as he quickened his pace. You pressed your lips to his, a kiss that wasn’t a kiss but Eddie swallowed your moans anyway, rocked his hips into the side of yours, trying to catch some friction ‘cause he was hard as all hell watching you fall apart for him.

“Close?” He asked and his voice was strained, a low rasp and he groaned wickedly when you nodded. “Shit, sweetheart, that’s it.”

It didn’t come to a surprise to you that Eddie would run his mouth, that he would babble and talk quick and fast and dirty to you as you chased the high you knew he was going to give you.

“You look so pretty, y’know that? Feel so good — sh-shit — want you to let go for me, yeah? What d’you need, huh?”

You took his offer and crashed your lips to his, twisting so you could press yourself up against him, tongue diving past his lips without any of the gentleness that you’d given each other before and Eddie swore into the kiss, fingers hooking up and into you, pressing so sweet against the spot that had you crying out. You scrambled to grab at him, one hand on his jaw, the other in his hair as you squeezed your eyes shut too tight and let it all swim over you.

It crashed like a wave, upupup, until the coil in your tummy snapped and it all unravelled, crashing back down with a roar. Eddie’s free hand cupped the back of your head, holding you to him as you moaned into his mouth, lips parted against his and he was rocking into you, pushing himself up against where his hand was hidden in your shorts until he swore and buried his face into your neck, kissing the skin there.

You felt like your lungs were going to explode, like you’d run through the camp twice over and then offered yourself up for a hike. You were panting, letting Eddie smooth a hand over your hair as he pulled back to hover over you, his own chest heaving. He winced as he slipped his fingers from you, whispered an apology when you cried out a little softly at the loss of him.

“You okay?” He asked and he sounded shy again, nothing like the boy who’d been whispering unholy things to you minutes before. “Good?”

You nodded, rolling into the boy, cheeks flushed, pressing your face into his neck before you spoke and when you did, your voice was unsteady. “Yeah, yeah I’m good. That was really good, fuck.”

You didn’t see the way the boy grinned, proud of himself, but you certainly sensed it. You huffed out a laugh, pushed at his chest and let him kiss your cheek

“Don’t be smug,” you chastised but there wasn’t much heat behind it, there couldn’t be, not when Eddie was looking at you like that. You turned in his arms, peering up at him from your lashes as you asked, “did you, uh, did you—?”

Eddie snorted, leaning down to kiss you quick on your lips, deciding it was enough and kissing you again. He smiled, pushed his nose to your cheek and hummed in agreement. “Did I come in my pants like a teenage boy?”

You stared at him.

“You’re damn right I did, sweetheart.” He grinned and shrugged, not looking the slightest bit embarrassed, and he shouldn’t have, ‘cause his confession made your thighs clench together all over again. “M’barely holding it together after watching you do that.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you laughed, a sharp, bright sound that made him smile wider and you were pulling him into you all over again. His hands snuck up your shirt, only to lie warm and rough against your back, like he just wanted to feel you and you nudged your hand at his jaw until he dropped his chin for you and you kissed him like it was the only thing you ever wanted to do.

Like you’d been waiting to do it all summer.

I want you.

“Well?”

Eddie was woken up with a pillow to his face, the sun from a new day streaming into the cabin through the already open curtains. He hadn’t heard the tannoy, he’d barely heard Steve return, a banana and two stolen muffins in his hands.

He threw one to Eddie as the boy stirred, turning to lie on his back and scowl at his friend. He caught the offering, blueberries staining his fingertips a violent purple and he swore.

“Fuck sake, Harrington, what time is it?”

“Six thirty, don’t bitch at me,” Steve shot back, pulling the sheets from Eddie, “tell me what happened, c’mon, get up.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie grunted, shifting until he was pressed against the wooden headboard and setting the muffin on the nightstand. “You wan’ me to plait your pigtails too?”

Steve scoffed but didn’t retaliate, flopping down on the end of Eddie’s bed uninvited, half of his breakfast already stuffed into his mouth. He tapped at his friend's calf, impatient and gesturing at him to spill.

“What?” Eddie laughed softly, “what d’you want me to say? That we made out?”

Steve snorted, rolling his eyes. “Well, no shit, dude. I kinda witnessed that part.”

Eddie kicked at him, pulling back the sheets from under Steve as he did, ignoring the way the other boy muttered an annoyed ‘ow.’ Eddie sighed, a smile spreading across his face ‘cause he was waking up properly and his pillow smelled like you and he could remember the way your hands felt on his neck, pulling him into you, onto you, just as greedy and eager as he had been.

You’d tasted like blue raspberry jolly ranchers, smelled like sunscreen and campfire smoke from earlier in the night and you’d kissed him breathless, kissed him slow, kissed him desperate.

Eddie shrugged, and he knew he looked foolish, a lazy, dopey grin on his face that Steve didn’t miss. He had a bad bedhead, curls sleep mussed and tangled from your fingers, a tiny, lilac bruise on his collarbone that matched the shape of your mouth.

He felt lovesick, missing you already even though it had only been a few hours since he walked you back to your own cabin in the dark. You’d lay in bed with him for an age after it all, laughing as you’d watched him shuck off his jeans, heading for the tiny bathroom with pink cheeks, his hands covering the stain on the crotch of his boxers.

He’d given you his sweater, his camp one, the one that said ‘Eddie’ on it with the teddy bear patch and he’d acted like it wasn’t deliberate, like it just so happened to be the first thing he’d grabbed for you but you smiled at him like you could see right through him.

Perhaps, Eddie had thought, you could.

You’d kissed him some more, let yourself be kissed by him back, all lazy and soft and sleep filled. The night was warm, Eddie’s bed warmer, legs tangled in each other’s and the sheets, the chirp of the cicadas the only other noise in the cabin apart from the tiny hitches of breath passed between your mouths.

He’d walked you back to your cabin at around three o’clock in the morning, the night still yawning over the camp in an inky blue cloak, the lake glittering as he guided you through the trees and over all the fallen logs that had always been too heavy to move.

Eddie had kissed you by your cabin door like he’d wanted to do since the first week of camp, since he’d bumped into you after dinner and walked you back, talking about music and work and how you were finding things. And then last night you’d held his hand all the way home and he’d glowed with it, felt your touch on him long after he’d left you with a kiss that went on too long, one that was more than sweet and still not enough.

Eddie blinked and cleared his throat, side eyeing Steve as he shoved his muffin into his mouth, wondering if he was as flushed looking as he felt. By the boy’s answering grin, Eddie assumed he was and he swore.

“Shit, you’re totally gone on her, huh?”

Eddie swallowed, taking his time to answer Steve who was waiting impatiently, eyebrows raised and grin stretching across his face.

“So far gone it’s stupid, man,” Eddie finally answered. “Dude, I can’t stop thinking about her and it’s only been…” he looked at his watch and almost laughed. “Jesus, three hours since I saw her.”

Steve smiled and shrugged, softening a little from the way he’d been pushy before. His friend looked like he’d been hit over the head in the best way, eyes dazed, lips still too pink and plush from god knows what he’d been up to the night before. He remembered that, that feeling of realisation, that moment of, ‘oh holy shit, this girl has my whole fuckin’ heart.’

“So? You just gonna keep hangin’ out ‘til the end of camp? Swap emails?”

Eddie faltered, forgetting that the end of camp was looming, something that he normally didn’t mind ‘cause six weeks was a long time to be kicking around after dozens of kids, and eventually the bug bites got a little annoying. He’d miss Wayne, miss the city, miss playing the songs he wanted to play on his guitar, missed band practice and the noise of the city that never really died down.

But Michigan and Pennsylvania were further apart than Eddie would’ve liked and a ten hour drive each way didn’t seem as easy as walking to your cabin.

You hadn’t talked about what was next, not apart from art school but who knew where. Maybe it was stupid of him to want more after one night together, after six weeks and some stolen moments, but Eddie’s chest got a little tighter at the idea of not seeing you every day.

So he looked at Steve with unsure eyes, shrugged again and pulled himself out of bed before the conversation could continue. There wasn’t long left until the kids would have to pack and the parents would start to arrive and Hop would tell the staff to start hauling tables and chairs and sports equipment back into storage.

Maybe there'll be next summer. But Eddie thought about your sketchbooks and your drawings, the way your eyes lit up when you told him that art school seemed like more of a possibility than ever and the boy decided that maybe there would be bigger and better things for you next year.

“C’mon,” Eddie told Steve, pulling fresh clothes out of his drawers, “help me set up for guitar lessons?”

—————

The rest of the days went by in a blur, much, much quicker than the weeks before. The heat soared, the days drawing out longer still, until it was pushing half past ten and the sky was still lilac and cotton candy pink, stars on the horizon and the moon opposite the sun.

Eddie’s private lessons wrapped up and he came to you on his lunch break, smiling politely at Nancy who just grinned, skirting past her to ask you for help with something. You spent the afternoon with him on the floor of the craft room, cutting out certificates for each kid, writing their names neater than he ever could, gold stars and tiny, coloured guitars around the border.

Eddie was more than pleased, pink in the cheeks and you could see all of it with his hair pulled back in a bun. He’d leaned over the mess you’d both made, kissed you sweet on the lips and ducked his head when Nancy had cooed at you both from the storage cupboard.

You called him Teddy when no one else was around, whispered it soft enough that it made his brain short circuit, head going fuzzy until he could only respond by dragging you away somewhere quiet to kiss you until you were as dazed looking as he felt. It was his new favourite thing, stealing you away, ‘cause you let him every time, a grin on your face and you looked at him like he was made of gold.

He’d sit you on top of one of his amps, pushing his way between your legs, moaning in approval when you’d hitch them around his waist when he kissed you stupid, a hand on your jaw so he could tilt you this way and that, so he could slip his tongue past your lips just the way he wanted to. Eddie discovered how you loved having your neck kissed; slow, delicate touches of his lips down your throat, how you liked it when he bit and sucked at it when he was in your bed with you at night.

But you loved it even more when he kissed you sweetly on the cheek in front of your friends, in front of his. Like it was no big deal, like it was easy, like he’d always done it. You liked the way he’d do it quick when he said goodbye, when your schedules took you to opposite sides of the camp from each other and you adored it when he turned pink when everyone “awww’d” at him in response.

He spent more time in your cabin than his, gave up his lunch breaks to hang out with you and your group of kids, feigning innocence when they asked him if he was your boyfriend. He’d look to you, unable to stop himself from smiling and he’d grin something stupid when you’d hit your lip and tuck your chin to your chest, as if that would stop him from seeing the way you flushed.

And on the nights when neither of you had dinner duties, you’d meet Robin at the back door of the kitchens, taking the stolen pizza slices with a thank you before dragging Eddie back to your bunk. You’d play music for each other, the volume low as you swapped stories and secrets, and Eddie would try to make you laugh with tales from summers before, all the stupid shit he and Steve would get up to, how the boy and his now girlfriend used to hate each other… apparently.

When you got braver and kissing the boy got easier, as easy as breathing, you returned the favour and unzipped his jeans, wrapping your hand around him and watched him lose it, whispering your name over and over and over again as he threw his head back into your pillow and fisted the cotton of your sundress in his hands. He was a mess when you leaned down to kiss across his stomach, the tattoos there you’d never been able to properly look at before, his shirt pushed up his chest so you could mouth over the soft skin, adoring the way the boy babbled aimlessly for you.

You liked that you could reduce him to a mess, whether it was with your mouth on him and your bra on his cabin floor, the back of his van, or simply by waving at him across the mess hall, standing in your denim shorts and his sweater, name badge and teddy patch to boot.

Steve was right, he was gone on you.

Even Billy knew, ‘cause he’d pass you both by and roll his eyes, motioning to the way you liked to hook your fingers into the boy’s front pockets, pulling him to you. Billy would gesture to the scene, announcing to anyone who was nea by, staff or kids - he didn’t care.

“See!” He’d half yell, smug, “fuckin’ called it, didn’t I? M’comin’ back next summer with a pair of damn wings and a bow.”

The last night of camp, Eddie stole you away from the fire, where you’d been sitting with Robin and Chrissy, sharing a bag of chocolate pretzels. The girls had made fun, cooing and laughing when Eddie flushed and flipped them off, but you went willingly, a grin on your face as he took you by the hand.

He led you past the cabins, where the kids were inside packing up and the rest of the camp looked uncharacteristically bare, the kayaks put into storage, the flags from games week taken down from the tree branches.

Eddie gestured to his van, sitting squint behind the gym building. He smiled, all blue shadows and dark eyes in the night. “Wanna get out of here?” He asked.

You grinned, ‘cause he’d asked you that before and Eddie smiled like he remembered too. So you nodded, leaning into him to whisper the same thing you’d said to him all those weeks ago.

“Are we allowed?”

Eddie kissed you in response, a slow, too sweet slant of his lips over yours, once, twice, three times, before he pulled back to nudge his nose to yours.

“No,” he whispered back and it sounded like sin, like summer, like mischief and everything you didn’t want to let go.

“Well,” you murmured back, hooking your fingers into his jean pockets and pulling him into you. You pressed another kiss to his lips, an extra one to the line of his jaw for good measure. “Let’s go.”

He took you to a lake, away from the camp and any towns, where the only light came from the stars and you lit up when he pulled out a couple of blankets from the back of the van. Eddie helped you onto the roof, laughing when he grabbed a handful of your ass to push you up and you squealed at him. But everything turned softer and quieter when you lay beside him, his arm under your head to cushion it, both of you staring up at the sky that was more than just black, more than just a navy tint.

Eddie whispered constellations to you, pointing out lines and shapes above and he told you how Wayne had taught them to him, when the trailer park's generators would break down, how he’d take him up onto the roof and tell him all about the Milky Way and Orion’s Belt.

He relished the way you clung to him, buried into his side with your arm wrapped around his waist, fingers tracing his hip bone under his shirt, chin hooked onto his shoulder.

Then he trailed off, shifting to pull something from his pocket and he cleared his throat, scrunching his nose like you now knew he did when he was nervous.

“Uh, here,” he smiled shyly. “This is for you. It’s stupid, I know, but it’s somethin’ for the drive home, right?”

You sat up as he handed you a mixtape, the one he’d spoken about. It had some songs on it from bands you didn’t recognise, some that you’d assumed would’ve been too heavy metal for your taste but it didn’t escape you that a few of them had the word ‘love’ in the title. REO Speedwagons ‘I Can’t Fight This Feeling,’ had been written twice, the first once scored out as if Eddie had changed his mind and it made you hiccup a laugh.

There was an email address on the other side of the paper, tucked into the case beside the tape and you glanced at the boy, tears gathering at your lash line ‘cause you hadn’t been looking forward to this talk, this quiet goodbye where the two of you could be alone.

“I, uh, I don’t have a computer at home,” Eddie explained quietly and he sniffed, leaning in to gather your hands, “but I can go to the library most days and we can talk, you can tell me about art school and, and, you know, life n’ stuff.”

You sniffed and nodded, smiling even though it was tinted with a sadness that you couldn’t explain. There was a longing that was wrapping around your chest, growing between your bones and the spaces between your ribs like wildflowers until they grew roots and you wondered if it would ever leave. You missed the boy already, even though he was bringing your hands to his lips, pressing kisses to your knuckles as he whispered for you not to cry.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “life and stuff.”

—————

The last day of camp was as hectic as the first.

Kids poured from their bunks as they greeted their parents by the fire pit, bags left in places they shouldn’t as other kids (and Hopper) tripped over rucksacks and pillows. Nancy did the rounds with Murray, checking each cabin for lingering campers, a missed shoe or a forgotten book and you were surprised at how sad you were to see them lock up each door as they left.

You watched over a crowd of kids as Eddie knelt down to accept a bone crushing hug from some of his students, a few of them clutching a new set of drumsticks they didn’t arrive with. Some campers were sniffling, clinging to the legs of their favourite counsellors, only consoled by the fact that all the adults were telling them they’d be back next summer.

Next summer.

The paycheck in your front pocket felt too heavy for just a piece of paper. It had some nice numbers on it, more than you’d anticipated, enough to add to your savings, enough to put down a deposit on an apartment. So where new, a different city, maybe a different state. You thought about the textbooks you’d need for school, the set of mechanical pencils you’d asked for your birthday but never received.

You thought about the applications to art schools that would be sitting on your desk waiting for you when you arrived home.

You looked at Eddie again, with the same cut up shirt he’d worn the first day you’d met him, tattoos on show to scandalise the parents, all wild curls and soft smiles. He melted even more when he met your gaze and the thudthudthud of your heart was from excitement, not nerves. Not anymore.

Eddie Munson made you feel the best kinda way.

So when the parents left, kids in the backs of cars, hanging out of open windows as they yelled and waved goodbye, and the rest of the staff were saying their own farewells, Eddie took your hand and smiled.

It was sad, a soft, puppy dog kinda smile that made your chest ache ‘cause there were no plans made, no definition, no label on what you were, who he was to you. And that was okay, you’d both thought, ‘cause it was so, so new and shit, two weeks ago you weren’t even supposed to be looking at boys.

But something changed, something snapped, something fell into Place and it felt so good.

Who were you to argue with that?

“So, what now?” Eddie asked, all quiet and soft and just for you to hear. He moved into you as you leaned on the side of your car, still wearing his sweater, hands in his front pockets to keep him from straying too far. As if he ever could. “Art school, yeah? My little Picasso.”

You snorted, ducking your head ‘cause he was too lovely, too sweet. You shrugged and acted coy, not knowing how to say it, not knowing how’d he take it ‘cause it was new and it was fresh and it was scary.

But it was Eddie. And he’d wanted a fall wedding, hadn’t he?

You nodded and smiled, taking a deep breath before you looked up at him, squinting a little against the sun that was in the sky behind him. He was backlit against that hazy morning glow, the light still a little peachy, a pretty rosy kinda day.

“Yeah, I guess so,” you told him and Eddie smiled like he was happy for you, and god he was, he really was.

“M’proud of you,” he whispered and he pressed a kiss to your hairline, sweet and soft and god, this boy.

You grinned, letting him love on you, pushing your face to his neck so you could kiss him back before you pulled away and shrugged. “Not applied for anywhere just yet.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll get into any school you go for, sweetheart.”

You grinned, scrunching your nose in the hopes that it would disguise your nerves. “Yeah? You think?”

Eddie nodded, nothing but solemn seriousness. “I know,” he told you.

Your heart stopped and stuttered before it picked back up again, dancing against your ribcage. You hooked your fingers deeper into Eddie’s pockets, tugging until he laughed and let you move him closer, his body flush with yours. Eddie cradled your face in his hands, fingers splayed over your jaw as he pushed lovely at your cheeks, his rings cold on your too warm skin.

“You can go anywhere you wanna go, babe.”

“I heard there’s a really great art school,” you swallowed, tongue feeling too clumsy for your mouth. You were flushing, chest tight, but fuck it, no one was there to tell you that you weren’t allowed to try anymore. “In Philly. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

Eddie froze, gazing down at you with his hands still clutching at your face with a softness you didn’t ever want to be without. Maybe he’d stopped breathing, maybe you had, and then he was smiling, grinning, beaming, that slow, spread of his lips across his face that made the entire fucking world light up.

He was brighter than the sun.

“Yeah?” Eddie asked, and he sounded softer than you’d ever heard him, like he couldn’t quite believe it, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to.

You shrugged, bottom lip tucked between your teeth, trying not to smile, not to get too ahead of yourself ‘cause you needed to apply and actually get in and get an apartment and tell your mom you were moving out of state andandand —

“Yeah,” you said and you sounded more sure than you’d ever felt before.

Eddie’s thumb pushed lovely at your cheek, still grinning and he smelled like the campfire smoke, like the forest and a rainstorm. He looked like a dream, like something you’d conjured up from a sketchbook.

He was too pretty, too perfect, all guitar string scarred hands, teddy bear patches and bad boy tattoos, silver rings and wild hair, a cotton candy personality to boot.

No boys? Who were you fucking kidding?

“Shit, sweetheart, maybe I’ll see you around.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things fic

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cuubism · 3 months ago

Text

Made in an Instant (3/5)

continuation of Dream's eldritch pregnancy

Apparently by sheer force of will, Dream still refuses to ‘look’ pregnant in any kind of meaningful way. But looks are not everything, and the fact that Dream is not quite himself—more so the further along they get—is evident in how… chaotic the Dreaming has been.

Gravity’s all wonky. Hob will walk along a palace corridor towards Dream’s quarters—a corridor he thought he knew plenty well—only to find the sky out the windows is suddenly down, and he’s walking on the ceiling. Usually, the second he notices he plummets to the floor. Or rather, to the ceiling. Or whatever.

Weather’s weird, too. Not really in a bad way, not like when Dream is morose and it rains all the time. But there’s been snow going sideways—“the baby likes winter,” Dream said at one point when Hob asked—and the waterfalls that tumble down the river running by the castle have been running up, and the temperature is fluctuating seemingly by the minute. Hob’s given up on trying to dress to the weather—even dream-logic can’t keep up with the changes. He just suffers through it. It’s probably bothering Dream more than it is him, anyway.

He copes with the chaos because he might as well get used to it now—it’s not like a magical baby is going to be any less chaotic.

On this particular day, when Hob arrives in the Dreaming to see Dream, he nearly backs right back out again. Not that that’s really how it works. But it’s high noon, the sun glaringly bright overhead, and the Dreaming is blaring with noise.

With music, specifically. The whole place is playing “Bring Me to Life”, of all things, very loudly, though it seems to be some kind of infant adaptation made of bells and chimes. Covering his ears, Hob tries to find a speaker system in the palace. Nothing. It seems to be ambient noise emanating from the sky and the earth and the very fucking soul of the place.

So instead he goes to track down Dream.

On his way, he passes Lucienne, who’s valiantly trying to complete her work in the library, brow pinched, and Matthew, who alights briefly, unsteadily on his shoulder to say, “I know they’re having mommy and me music time and it’s all sweet and cute but do you think you can get him to turn down the emo xylophone? I can’t fly in this shit,” before winging away again.

Eventually Hob reaches Dream’s quarters. He doesn’t answer when Hob knocks, so Hob just goes in. He finds him sitting on the floor, back to the stone wall, eyes squeezed shut and hands clasped over his ears. Shit. Rough day, then.

Hob sits down across from him on the floor. “Dream.” No response. He taps Dream’s knee. “Dream!”

Dream startles, looking up at him. Then seizes Hob’s hands and clasps them over his own ears, sighing in relief when that apparently mutes some of the sound. Hob’s not sure how that works, but then, everything works weirdly in the Dreaming.

Hob moves closer to him so he can sort of, awkwardly, fold Dream into his arms. “Are you okay, honey?”

Dream shakes his head. “Loud.”

“Yeah, it really is.”

He shakes his head again. “Inside.”

“What does that mean?” Hob asks. “Are the baby’s powers bothering you?”

Dream nods as he pushes his face into Hob’s shoulder, Hob’s hands still covering his ears. “She is… growing into herself, and I am glad for it, but—” he breathes out, hard, tired— “but, I have been. Busy. And. My focus slipped. And she is very excitable. It seems.”

Hob really should do better than to forget the gap between what Dream feels and what he vocalizes. Listening to him talk normally, one would think that managing the baby’s burgeoning powers required no effort at all.

“You’ve been dealing with so much, my darling, haven’t you?” Hob holds him close and rocks him back and forth. “It sounds very hard. You’re doing so well.”

“Hob Gadling, I do not need your platitudes,” Dream growls, but he wraps his arms around Hob nevertheless, fingers gripped in his jumper. Hob keeps his hands pressed over his ears.

“‘Course you don’t,” he says. Then keeps up with the platitudes anyway, as they seem to be pulling Dream’s focus from the overwhelming music. “You don’t need me to tell you how powerful you are. Or how good a job you’re doing taking care of our baby as she grows. Do you?”

Dream just sighs, but doesn’t protest. Even dream kings need to be told they’re doing a good job sometimes, Hob thinks.

The music’s changed. It’s metal now, though still in that bells and xylophone register. “Baby likes Metallica?” Hob asks, and Dream makes a hmph sound into his shirt. “Think we can turn it down a bit? Matthew was crashing into walls.”

“You can turn it down,” says Dream.

Hob is about to ask, well, how? then thinks, fuck it, this is the Dreaming. He imagines a dial in front of him, and turns it.

The volume goes down.

The Dreaming’s so cool sometimes.

“Thank you,” Dream says.

“What were you up to before all this?” Hob asks, finally loosening his grip on Dream’s head now that the music’s lower.

“I was building her a room in the palace. I was… struggling to get it right. Perhaps the details will have to come to me later.”

“You seem pretty tired. Maybe you should just come back to it, hm?”

“Perhaps.” He finally lifts his head from Hob’s chest. “Would you like to see?”

“The room? Definitely.”

They get up, and Dream opens a door in his chambers that definitely wasn’t there before to take them through to another part of the palace.

Inside, it’s, well. It’s chaotic.

Much like in Dream’s throne room, the ceiling is composed of a literal night sky, deep enough to fall into. The walls bear murals of various Dreaming landscapes and the fantastical creatures that live in them, which Hob thinks Dream might have painted by hand. He also thinks they might be more like doorways than murals, at least when Dream allows them to be. There’s a stream running through the center of the room with actual fish in it—definitely a drowning hazard, but presumably Dream has some magic that would prevent that—and in the corner is, despite Dream’s claims that he could make one so much better, a direct replica of the crib Hob had put together in the Waking. Which is so sweet.

It’s all very chaotic, but it’s… nice, too? It’s eclectic and changeable, the way the baby’s power feels, when Hob’s felt it.

“It’s gorgeous, Dream, I think she’ll love it,” he says, and Dream’s tiny smile is surprised, but pleased. “Just make sure she doesn’t drown in the stream, yeah?”

“I will ensure it,” Dream promises. “She will come to no harm in the Dreaming.”

“Good.” He pulls Dream close, kisses his cheek, holds him as they look at their child’s room. Their child. They’re really doing this? Trying again?

Well. There’s really no turning back now.

Dream sighs tiredly, leaning into his side.

“I wish I could help you more with this,” Hob says. “I know I can’t, not with all of it, but still.”

“Such is the way of things,” says Dream.

Hob wraps his arms around him from behind, cradles his belly in his hands. It’s something he did, once upon a time, for Eleanor. Dream doesn’t have much of a belly at all—Hob doubts he ever will at this point—but he seems to appreciate the gesture. It’s all about the meaning of a thing with Dream, rather than the materiality.

Indeed, Dream hums, laying his hands over Hob’s.

“I hope you aren’t suffering too much,” Hob says, hooking his chin over Dream’s shoulder.

“Suffering, no,” says Dream. “Feeling as though I have taken on a second job, so to speak, yes. But.” He looks down, smiling lightly. “It makes me happy, to feel her. When she is not trying to play extremely loud music, that is.”

“Soon she’ll just be playing extremely loud music in my flat. How much insanity am I going to be coping with, by the way? Are we going to be taking home a fully-grown terror?”

“Mmm. Rather more agency than a human baby, I expect.” He sounds like he’s enjoying the prospect of chaos at Hob’s expense. Of course.

“Terrific. Time to concept-proof the house. As a concept, you’ll have to advise.”

Dream chuckles, holding onto Hob’s hands where they’re still wrapped around his belly. Hob kisses the side of his neck.

“Is there anything I can do for you, darling? Anything that will make you feel better?”

“I will come back with you to the Waking, for a time, if you are not busy,” says Dream.

“Never busy when it comes to you,” Hob says.

Dream gives him a look over his shoulder, but doesn’t protest. Hob holds onto his hands as Dream takes them to the Waking.

It’s always really weird waking up that way. There’s no proper line between dreaming and waking, the dream-space of their daughter’s future bedroom just sort of cedes into Hob’s flat, and he finds himself in bed, blinking awake in the dark. Dream is lying curled in his arms, in much the same position as how they were just standing.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Hob says, and Dream huffs.

“Will you indoctrinate our child with your sense of humor?” he asks.

“I’ll sure try.”

Dream just sighs again in response, long-suffering as always. Hob cuddles him close, and feels the way his whole body relaxes. It’s lovely how, in all the turmoil of pregnancy, he seems to be gradually allowing himself a modicum of greater relaxation and indulgence, at least when they’re together. It’s still only a small percentage of what he truly should allow himself, in Hob’s opinion, but it’s progress.

“I’m glad you came back with me,” he says, petting Dream’s hair. “Take a break for a little while.”

“For a short time, perhaps,” Dream agrees.

“For a longer time?” Hob says.

He really thinks Dream might benefit from taking some time off before the baby is born, too. Taking time off is anathema to Dream, and he’s not particularly fond of being told what to do, either, so Hob hasn’t pushed it much. But there’s no real reason not to. The Dreaming won’t fall apart if he takes some time for himself, just for a few months.

“I don’t know,” Dream says, which is as good as a no. “Perhaps.”

And Hob gets what’s going on in his mind. If Dream felt that resting was something he needed to do for his daughter’s sake, he would likely do it, but as it stands it feels far too self-indulgent for him. He can’t stand to allow himself that.

“What can I do for you now, darling?” he asks. “What do you need?”

Quietly, Dream says, “Will you make love to me?”

“Oh, love.” Hob kisses the back of his neck. “You hardly have to ask.”

He can imagine Dream’s tiny smile, even if he can’t see it.

He traces his hand down Dream’s chest, Dream’s shirt disappearing into mist in the wake of his touch. Dream leans back into him, and Hob keeps touching him, lower now, brushing the hem of his pajama pants, which likewise dissolve back into dreams. He dips his fingers between Dream’s legs, drawing another long sigh from him that merges into a low groan.

“Sensitive?” Hob teases, and Dream huffs. Hob kisses under his jaw, holding him close. “It’s okay. You’re so beautiful right now, you know that? So gorgeous.” He splays his free hand over Dream’s belly, arm wrapped around him, as he keeps working him with the other. Dream shivers and squirms under his touch.

Hob delves his fingers into him. Dream is already wet and aching, so wanting. Hob takes himself out of his pajama pants, thrusts between Dream’s thighs. Dream gasps as Hob nudges at his entrance, then moans as he eases in, so easy, like Dream was just waiting for it.

He gives a few slow thrusts, breathing out hard against the back of Dream’s neck. “Feel so good, love.”

Dream grabs onto his hand, squeezing tight. “Hob.”

Hob rolls his hips, fucking him long and slow, lips pressed to Dream’s skin. He can’t lie and say he isn’t very into Dream like this. There’s nothing particularly physically different about him. But he’s so wanting. And when they’re alone together, he’s so open about wanting, too. Hob is very much into a Dream who wants to be coddled and is willing, at least to some degree, to admit it.

He keeps rocking into him, kissing his neck. Dream pushes back against him, meeting each thrust. He feels so good, lax, and pliant, shivering when Hob rolls into him. Hob holds tight to Dream’s hand, gasping at each peak of their rhythm.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Hob murmurs against his skin. “Is that good for you, love?”

“Yes, yes.” Dream cries out as Hob presses in deep, then shudders, clenching down around him. “Hob.”

“So good, sweetheart. Perfect. I love you.”

He keeps up his steady, measured pace, though Dream’s body feels so good it makes him want to just chase his own release until he catches it. Make love to me, Dream had said. And Hob will. He’ll always want to hold him close, to make him feel good, to feel the way Dream relaxes when he knows he’s loved.

“Please,” Dream begs, “please, Hob—” and oh, Hob loves when he can unravel him enough to get that.

He kisses the affected pulse in Dream’s throat, murmurs, “Shhh, love, I’ll always give you everything you want, don’t you know?”

“Yes,” Dream breathes, “yes, yes—”

Then he comes, clenching tight around Hob with a gasp. His body spasming pushes Hob over the edge, too, and he holds Dream close as he spills in him, Dream letting out a low whine at the feeling.

When he’s recovered his breath, Hob carefully pulls out, and leans over Dream’s shoulder to catch his lips in a thorough kiss. Dream twists and tangles his fingers in Hob’s hair, humming into the kiss.

“You know,” Hob observes, as they’re still tangled together, a smile tugging at his lips, “this is kind of how we got into this situation? Still didn’t talk about birth control, either.”

Dream grumbles, pulling back far enough to look at him. “I can hardly get pregnant twice at the same time.”

“Didn’t think you could get pregnant once,” Hob says. “I wouldn’t put anything past you, love.”

“I vow that I will not get pregnant again,” Dream concedes, with a long-suffering sigh.

“Retroactively?”

“Hob.”

Hob laughs at his aggrieved tone, squeezing him tight. “Even if you did, it’s alright. We’d make it work. I doubt dealing with two is something you’d want right now, though.”

“I certainly would not,” says Dream. “Your daughter is already very demanding.”

“She’s my daughter when she’s being demanding?”

“Correct,” says Dream haughtily, and Hob kisses him again.

“Then she’s your daughter when she’s making things float in my living room,” he tells him.

“Float,” Dream echoes. “Perhaps. I’m uncertain exactly how her powers will manifest in the Waking. It is clearer to me in the Dreaming, although all dreamers have some ability to mold the dreamspace around them, part-Endless or not.”

“I’m definitely feeling so prepared for it.”

Dream quirks a smile. It seems to be at Hob’s expense. “I am sure you will manage. You’ve endured greater challenges.”

“Have I?”

Dream only continues to smirk at him, somewhat wickedly, so Hob tousles a hand in his hair and gets up. “Stay there, my prince. Let me do all the work.”

“I shall,” Dream says, lying back and sprawling out in the sheets. Hob just shakes his head fondly as he turns to the bathroom.

After he’s cleaned them both up—Dream certainly not lifting a finger for any of it—he holds Dream against his chest, Dream with his head tucked under Hob’s chin and one leg slung over Hob’s thigh. Maybe this is one reason he refuses to have an actual pregnant belly. He wouldn’t be able to lie like this comfortably if he did.

He combs his fingers through Dream’s hair, and Dream hums in pleasure, making a low purring sound that rumbles through Hob’s chest. If only it could be like this always, Hob thinks. Or at least, until the baby’s born, and for some time after. Dream doesn’t have to work himself to the bone. He can have this for longer.

“Be sure to stay for a while, yeah?” he says. “Don’t go back right away. Take a nap and then I’ll make you breakfast and— just, you know. Stay.”

Dream doesn’t explicitly agree, but he tucks his nose into the hollow of Hob’s throat. At least it’s quieter here for him, Hob thinks. He needs the peace. Even if it doesn’t last.

“Love you, you know,” Hob says, pressing a kiss into Dream’s hair. “Whatever you decide.” And he holds him long into the morning.

#dreamling #mpreg #my writing #wish

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