Work Text:
The engine of the car is still humming when it starts to rain. There's this distinct smell in the air—moist, almost like recently wetted wood—, and you know there's a huge storm coming. You're still making sure you've got everything you need when a sudden downpour begins to fall. The droplets crash against the car doors, and it almost feels like the whole vehicle is vibrating with them.
“Shit,” you mumble, swinging the driver's door open. “Eddie!” you yell while you run towards his trailer, “let me in! I'm gonna get soaked!”
It doesn't take long for you to reach the trailer, though, and you're about to knock when the door swings open. You run in without stopping to ask for permission.
Eddie immediately closes the door after you, but the few seconds it remained open seem to have been enough to soak the entrance. At least, that's what you think at first: until you realize there are small beads of water still falling to the floor, and your clothes are glued to your body, and your hair is drenched to the roots.
“You're getting my floor wet,” Eddie says.
“Fuck off,” you groan.
“Is this how you must treat me after I invite you into my humble abode?”
“Again, fuck off. And help me, I'm dripping wet.”
“Oh wow!” he mumbles in a high-pitched voice. “Buy me a drink first, you dirty pig.”
Eddie scoots out of the way before you can punch his arm, chuckling to himself. You frown at him.
“Munson, I swear if you—”
“Okay, okay!” he laughs, ”I'll get you some clothes.”
He's still giggling as he makes his way down the hall, and you make sure he's out of sight before letting yourself smile at his antics.
“Dumbass,” you huff under your breath.
As you wait for him to come back, you can't help but think about the fact this is not the first time you'll be wearing Eddie Munson’s clothes—thankfully, now for much less humiliating reasons. The first was at a party a few years back. Munson wasn't known to attend those, but he did go to that one, for whatever reason.
The picture is still clear as day in your mind: Eddie Munson walking into the room, clad-worn leather jacket in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Someone coming up to him, a few words exchanged before Eddie takes one last drag at his cigarette, then puts it out against the kitchen counter. That smug smile on his face as he puts his hand right below his chin, palm up as if he's about to blow a kiss, and instead exhales the smoke right into that person's face. Eddie laughs as he walks away. He knows everyone's watching. He doesn't know you're staring, too.
You try to remember if that was the first time your pulse spiked at the sight of him.
The point is, Eddie was there, and you were drunk. You're not sure what the reason was: a fight with your parents, a misunderstanding with that insufferable “friend group” you'd had at the time, maybe even a stupid crush.
You were younger then, probably a little reckless, and very much not used to drinking. So of course, you got wasted, and tripped into a whole bowl of fruit punch. It fell to the floor with a loud bang, and made sure to stain your entire shirt on the way down. For a few seconds, the full room went quiet.
Not for long, obviously. No teenager could ever be kind enough to spare you the humiliation. Your cheeks went crimson red when people started to laugh, and you ran to the bathroom, where you hid yourself for what felt like an eternity. The longer you stayed, the harder it was to go out. After a couple of minutes, someone knocked on the door.
“I'll be out in a minute!” you yelled.
“Let me doubt that,” the voice on the other end said. The door began to open before you could even ask what they meant by that.
You jolted back, and almost yelped as you watched none other than Eddie Munson let himself into the bathroom.
“What the hell are you doing?!” you squealed, but he ignored your question completely. Your mouth went slack when he suddenly began to remove his t-shirt. You shrieked, covering your eyes with both hands. “Oh my god! Fucking pervert!”
That made Eddie chuckle, and you took a quick peek at him through your fingers: head slightly tilted back, hair bouncing with the ripples of laughter, and his very naked chest right in front of you. You felt your cheeks heat up under your palms.
When his laughter died down, he took one quick look at you, and you were thankful you hadn't moved your hands away from your face.
“Take this,” he said, pushing his crumpled up t-shirt to your chest. “Your shirt has become see-through… Just take it,” Eddie whispered, raising his eyebrows at you.
Not knowing how to respond, you brought one of your hands down, and took the t-shirt away from him. He gave you a small nod, then left the room.
“What the fuck?” you mumbled to yourself, and looked into the mirror.
Eddie Munson was right: your dirty shirt left nothing to the imagination.
So you locked the door—no more uninvited guests—and began to change into Munson's clothes. His t-shirt hung rather low, but what you noticed most was how warm it felt around your skin. You wondered if it was because your punch-stained clothes had grown cold around you, or because Eddie Munson’s blood always ran that hot. The thought made you squirm, so you decided to try and forget all about it.
You walked out of the bathroom, trying to ignore the obvious gossip running around the room. It was more than obvious that you were wearing Eddie's t-shirt. Even if someone had missed him walking out of the bathroom—shirtless, by the way—, the huge Iron Maiden logo on the back told them everything they needed to know. You left the party in a rush, blushing to the tip of your ears.
If anyone asked, you'd say it was because of the embarrassment. But if they wanted the truth, you'd have to tell them it was the fact you could actually smell Eddie Munson against your bare skin: a weird mix of cigarettes, metal, and something akin to vanilla.
“Here you go,” Eddie’s voice shakes you out of your trance. Your head jolts up, and meets a pile of clothes halfway through the motion. Eddie chuckles, watching you juggle around to avoid dropping them. “Great reflexes, sweetheart.”
“Stop mocking me, asshole,” you groan. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I can see that.” He gives you a mocking smile, and you glare at him. “Go change in my room. There’s a towel on the bed,” he says, and you walk towards his room.
It’s not the first time you see it, but it hasn’t gotten to the point where you’re used to being in there. It feels a little uncanny to see it when he’s not inside.
You start to take your clothes off, and let out a sigh of bliss as you peel off the sticky layers of fabric. After drying yourself up with the towel, you start to shimmy into—what you guess are—Eddie's pajamas. You've got the top halfway on when you hear the bedroom door creak open.
“Hey, do you—Shit!” Eddie jumps. You're not fully facing the door, thankfully. Eddie puts a hand over his eyes anyways.
“What the hell, Munson?!” you grumble, quickly pulling the top all the way down.
“I'm sorry! I— Honestly, I forgot you were changing!” he says, and you can feel the embarrassment in his voice. The shades of red creeping up his neck make it all the more obvious.
“How is that something you forget?” you retort, still hugging yourself as if he could somehow see through the fabric.
“I don't know!” he squeaks. There's a bit of an uncomfortable silence before he asks: “Are you dressed now?”
“Yes,” you answer, watching Eddie as he moves his hands away from his face, and catch the way his gaze falls down to your chest for a quick second. “Munson!” you scold him. He winces at being caught.
“Sorry,” he says, then clears his throat. “Sorry… Um, yeah, anyways, I came in to ask if you wanted some beer? There are a few cans left in the fridge,” he says, still not quite looking at you.
“Is this what you risked seeing my bare ass for?” you snort, and his eyes shoot up, eyebrows arched all the way to the ceiling. “I'm kidding!” you chuckle as you make your way towards him, switching the light off on your way out. “A beer sounds just fine.”
You don't wait for him to move before scooting out, so your body presses slightly against him on the way out. Eddie stiffs for a second, and you roll your eyes at him. He hopes you didn't just catch the way he’d jolted his hips back, away from your body.
“C’mon, Munson,” he hears you say, “I was promised the gnarliest movie night ever, and recently tempted with free beer. So move your ass, or face the consequences.”
Eddie chuckles. “Are these consequences a weak excuse for a sucker punch?” he asks as he begins to walk towards you.
“Don’t make fun of my punches unless you want me to hit you harder,” you say, squinting your eyes at him.
“Don't threaten me with a good time,” he mumbles, and wiggles his eyebrows at you, which makes you laugh.
There's rain pounding violently against the windows while Eddie opens the fridge. He takes a couple cans of cheap beer out, and is about to say something when the sound of a loud thunder cuts through the air. His face drops in a matter of seconds, and you frown in confusion.
“Munson?”
Lighting strikes again, and Eddie doesn't look startled anymore, he looks straight up terrified. You see him flinch, jumping back a little, eyebrows curling down unnaturally. Unnatural for him, at least.
“Eddie?” you ask again, louder this time. You walk to him, and reach out to put a hand on his shoulder. All it manages to do is make him flinch a second time, and regret instantly sinks deep into your stomach. “I’m sorry,” you say, retracting your hand as fast as you can. He still looks scared shitless, breathing a little heavily. “Eddie, what's wrong?”
“I’m—” Another thunder roars through the walls, louder than the other two, and the floor trembles beneath your feet. This time, Eddie turns pale as a leaf.
“Hey, calm down… It’s okay.” Just as you're saying this, you hear a hissing sound, and look down to find Eddie's hands cramped around the beer cans. One of them is beginning to pour down onto the floor. “Give me that,” you whisper, and softly curl your fingers around his, easing the cans out of his grasp.
You're not too sure how he'll react to your touch this time, but quickly realize he seems pretty unresponsive. Still looking down, you see his legs start to tremble, and for a second it looks like he's going to collapse altogether. You leave the cans on the counter, and grab a kitchen cloth to quickly dry your hands with. Once you're done, you drop the cloth and hesitantly move your hands to Eddie's.
The contact startles Eddie for a bit, but he quickly starts following you. “C’mon,” you say, trying to keep your voice soft as a whisper, “come with me.” He's silent as he moves, trying to control his erratic breathing. “Yeah, just breathe, Eds, just breathe…”
You keep an ear out for him as you walk to the couch, and squeeze his hand when he lowers himself to sit down. For a second, all you do is stand there, in front of him, thinking of what to say or do. Nothing comes to mind, though, so you can't help yourself when you make the most obvious, stupid question:
“Are you okay?”
Eddie doesn't respond, and it's not necessary either. You sit down by his side, slowly putting a hand on his shoulder. You want to make sure he gets the chance to move away if he wants to. But he doesn't, and you take it as a sign to speak again, still trying to keep your voice down.
“Eds, what is it? Are you scared of the thunder?” you ask, caressing his upper back as you do so. “You can tell me… I won't make fun of you, I swear. I just want to help.”
Eddie's body is trembling under your palm, and he takes a sharp inhale before answering: “No, no, it's just… just the noise. Loud noises, I— I hate them, they remind me of…” Eddie tries to spit the explanation out, but fumbles his way around the words. It doesn’t look like they’re coming out any time soon.
“Stop,” you say, “there's no need to explain. Not to me, at least. And we can talk about it any other time, okay?” you tell him, moving your hand back to his shoulder to give him a squeeze. Eddie nods with his eyes closed. “I just want to know if there's anything I can do for you right now. I'm here…”
Still closing his eyes, Eddie tries his best to steady his breathing. You catch him playing around with his rings, and guess the movement helps him ground himself.
Seemingly out of your control, your hands shoot out to envelop his. The gesture makes Eddie open his eyes again, and you nod encouragingly at him, moving your thumb back and forth over his guitar-calloused fingers. His gaze finally begins to soften, and you give him a soft smile, thinking the worst of it is over.
Just as you're about to say something else, the sound of yet another thunder ripples through the trailer. It makes Eddie jolt up violently, and he lets out a choked whimper.
“Please, can you—” he blurts out, his voice cracking halfway through. The question burns the tip of his tongue. “Fuck, this is embarrassing. Can you hug me?”
Eddie Munson has never felt this small before in his life.
“Yes,” you immediately respond, “yes, of course.”
You retreat deeper into the couch, and bring Eddie’s back to your chest, grabbing him by his waist. There’s a moment of hesitation before you press your cheek to Eddie’s nape, burrowing your nose in his curly hair and moving your arms around until they embrace his torso: one hand on his ribs, the other just over his heart.
“Is this okay?” you whisper, the question slightly muffled against his back. Eddie doesn’t say anything, just nods his head, and you press him tighter against you. “I’ve got you.”
Silence stretches between the two of you after that. You can feel Eddie’s every movement, every beat of his heart against your palm, your cheek, your chest. All you hope is he can’t feel yours too. If in need to explain, Eddie could always blame the thunderstorm for his erratic pulse. You, on the other hand, have no excuse to hide behind: it’s all because of him.
Your palms are warm where they touch Eddie's clothes. One hand over his ribs, one over his heart. You wonder what would happen if you let them roam—caress Eddie's sides, go under the fabric to feel his skin against yours. The thought is as enticing as it is terrifying.
Then, there's also the smell engulfing your senses: vanilla. Eddie's shampoo is vanilla scented. The knowledge makes you want to scream. You shouldn't know what his hair smells like, shouldn't know what it feels like against your face. There’s a single quiet inhale. You hope it's enough to carve the smell into memory.
It takes almost half an hour for the storm to pass. Only then do you let go, even though Eddie's heartbeat has been going steady for at least fifteen minutes.
You're thinking it’s time to let go when Eddie grabs hold of your hand—the one on his chest—, and squeezes it. He lets his hand linger over yours, then breathes in deeply, and you think you hear him sniffle. You’re about to ask when he brings your hand up, leaving a soft kiss on your knuckles. It renders you speechless, almost breathless.
You’re not sure what is happening, or what to do. The moment seems too delicate to touch. It feels too precious to break.
At the same time, there's something tugging at your insides: if you don’t react soon, you know Eddie’s going to pull away. Either in shame or guilt. Whatever it is he’s thinking right now, you need to make sure he understands what the gesture made you feel. So, before there’s any room for doubt, you gently move his hair aside until you can see the paleness of his neck, and plant a faint kiss on his skin. Eddie's breath catches inside his throat.
There’s another bit of silence, and you wonder if you might’ve gone too far, somehow misread the situation, before Eddie mumbles, low and steady:
“I think I love you.”
It’s barely a whisper, so fragile you’re surprised you’ve heard it at all.
“What?” you say, sounding much more urgent than you’d like to admit. But Eddie doesn’t answer, doesn’t even flinch—he’s suddenly gone stiff. “Eds, what?” you ask again, voice breathier this time. You move away to look at his face, and he averts your gaze. Even in the dim light, you can see there’s a blush creeping up his ears. “Please, do you mean that?”
It might be the tenderness in your voice that finally gives him the courage to look up. There’s a fragility in his features that you’ve never seen before, and you wonder if it’s reflected in yours. He stares at you, switching between both of your eyes before he mumbles a single, frenzied word:
“Yes.”
Suddenly, it seems as if you’ve grown another heart: it’s pumping on the back of your throat, on your fingertips, right on the lowest part of your stomach.
“Say something, please,” Eddie sighs, anxiety taking over him again.
“Can I kiss you?” you let out. It might not be the most romantic of confessions, but it's yours. And the truth is, it’s all you need to know at the moment.
Eddie’s eyes are wild, staring at you in shock. But he begins to nod, and that’s enough. Your hand reaches out to caress Eddie’s cheek, and he closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. He looks angelical, you think to yourself, he’s an angel. You move your face closer to his, but stop just before your lips meet—so close you can feel his breath mingle with yours.
Before closing the distance, you take one last look at Eddie’s face: his eyes are halfway open, eyelids heavy, and he’s staring right at your lips. But he’s waited enough, so he surges forward before you can take the final step, and catches your lips between his.
You’ve always thought Eddie would be a rough kisser, eager and not the tiniest bit shy. Instead, he kisses you like he thinks you might break. His lips aren’t perfectly smooth, but they’re soft. There’s no rush in his movements, not even when he raises his hand to tangle on the back of your head, slowly deepening the kiss. You move away for a second, and Eddie unconsciously follows your lips.
“I think I love you too,” you whisper, a little out of breath. The words feel somehow natural to say.
Eddie’s eyes look up into yours, and he giggles. It’s the most beautiful sight. You rush forward, meeting his lips again, and think you could stay like that all night.
If you do, that’s no one else’s business but yours.