Eddie Munson imagines

Eddie's hair pt 2

NSFW
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Eddie's lips are warm against yours, and his jaw loosens slightly as his tongue carefully brushes the seam of your lips in question. Your mouth opens for him and he deepens the kiss, his head bowing over yours as your neck leans back slightly farther. His hands are still holding yours, pressing them tightly against his chest as his thighs tighten around you. He pulls back slowly, unable to resist sneaking his head back to yours for one more kiss after he has started to lean away, and smoothly moves his hands so that he's holding both of your wrists with only one hand. His free hand reaches up to your face, brushing a lock of lanky hair back behind your hair. Eddie's fingers hesitate there, brushing the curve of your ear with an achingly delicate touch before trailing down your jaw line. When his fingers make their way to your chin, he pushes slightly to raise your face up and your eyes meet. Slowly, he tilts his head and leans into you again, brushing his lips against yours with a feather-light touch. Involuntarily, your fingers curl against his chest, bunching as much of his shirt as you can get a hold of in your hands. The fingers around your wrists tighten slightly, just to the point of pain, and you gasp into Eddie's open mouth. He pulls back immediately, concern darkening his eyes. "Are you okay?" He asks. You nod and look at your wrists pointedly. "Just a little tight," you say, and the corners of Eddie's mouth lift up. "Need me to loosen up, princess?" It feels like a challenge, almost, and you find yourself shaking your head no before you've even thought it through.

Eddie's eyes are like warm bowls of amber as he looks at you–No, you think, they're like the cups of coffee he drinks at the diner. Dark, but sweet. His free hand has floated to the side of your throat, and his index finger is slowly stroking up and down the side, tracing your pulse beneath your skin. The way your heart feels in your chest, you have to assume the skin in your neck is jumping with the force of the blood pumping through it. Eddie's eyes break from yours for a moment, dazed by the movement of his own finger over the soft skin of your throat, and he suddenly bends, brushing his lips against a spot close to your collarbone. The quiet groan that sneaks up through your chest at his touch elicits one from him as well, and the pressure of his mouth grows harder. Suddenly, you are panting at his touch, your fingers desperately trying to grab as much of him as possible to bring him closer, harder, whatever it takes to satisfy the uncontrollable need you have for him pooling in your stomach, along the insides of your thighs. His legs tighten around your waist, bringing you in even closer to him so the two of you are pressed together with no space but what's created by your clothes. His free hand slides up from it's place at the back of your neck, fisting in your hair and–oh God, your hair. Your jaw snaps shut and your vision clears from the hazy lust that has covered your eyes as Eddie's mouth stills. He pulls his head back from your throat, loosening his thighs from around you so you can take a step back. He keeps your hands in his, though, his grip still tight. "Remember who was kissing you, princess?" His face is hard, unreadable, but a muscle near his eye flickers and shows you that he is hurt under his facade of cool.

"No," you say, "I mean, yes–I know who I'm kissing, Munson." You're almost angry at the way he's phrased this question: the insinuation that you would suddenly come to your senses, that you would think about who you're kissing and suddenly reject him, is offensive to you. You know you're not supposed to like Eddie–you were never supposed to like Eddie, but it never stopped you from watching him as he moved through the cafeteria, never stopped you from sitting a row above him in the bleachers at school assemblies so you could hear him talk with his Hellfire friends, never stopped you from volunteering to take his table at the diner no matter who's section he was in, never stopped you from wanting him no matter how badly you wished you didn't, how many times you told yourself not to. He watches this quick flash of anger sweep over your face, and his own softens in return. "Did I do something wrong then?" He asks, his eyes gentler now. You shake your head, and he raises his eyebrows at you in an unspoken question. "My hair," you say. "You touched it." "Should I...not have done that?" Eddie asks, looking at you skeptically. "It's just–my hair is so gross right now." Eddie's laugh bursts out of him like the bats in flight marked over his forearm, and you can't stop the heat that races through your cheeks. It's stupid, and you know that, but it bothers you to think about Eddie touching you for the first time and running his fingers through dirty hair. If you had really thought about it, you would have showered before coming over–maybe put on some makeup and some pretty underwear too. You sigh as Eddie's laugh quiets. "I just don't want you to have to touch me when I feel so dirty," you say. Eddie grins at you, fixating on the word dirty, and your fingers bat at his chest softly. "That's not what I meant, Munson," you say, but you're smiling too.