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blurblicalscripture · 2 years

Text

my shy girl

warnings/ SMUTTTTT, weed, unprotected sex (don't fucking do itttt)

pairing/ eddiemunsonxshy!fem!reader

summary/ y/n likes eddie. eddie likes y/n. she's too shy to make the first move, he's too oblivious to make the first move. like most things in eddie's life, [the purchasing of] weed ends up being the solution to the problem

The picnic bench wobbles as you bounce your leg, only steadying as he sits down across from you. "Ah, my favourite customer."

Your palm is sweaty from the bundled up cash you're holding. You squeak out a "Hey."

"So, the usual?" he chirps, digging through for the little baggie. You hum out a "mhmm." You aren't interested in the weed at all as your eyes wander to Eddie. You enjoy the clink of his rings against the metal box, song-like.

A hand waves in front of you. "Earth to y/n?" He lilts.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. What?" You shake your head, still a little fuzzy.

He huffs a laugh. "I said that's twenty five, if you would be so kind." He holds the bag out to you in one hand, his other an open palm, elbows on the table. You flatten out the cash, hand it to him.

It should be thirty. He knows, you know. But you can't argue this with him again. You've lost count of how many times you had lost that battle. "You're my most loyal customer, y/n." He'd say. "It's only fair."

He clasps it in his palm, theatrical. "Pleasure doing business with ya," he says, shoving the cash in his little box and beginning to stand.

"English!" you blurt, a hand coming straight to your cheek. You sort of yelled, but it's Eddie, and he isn't exactly jarred by weird.

"English." He repeats, his tone a lullaby compared to yours. He lowers back on the bench. "What about it?"

"Uh, the english project." You swallow. "I heard that you could use some help."

He taps a finger on his lips, feigned thinking, eyes wandering to the sky above. "That I could."

"Well you obviously don't have to but if you want we can work on it at my house and my parents aren't at home and it'll be quiet. But it's up to you cause I'm sure you have better things—"

He waves his hands. "Y/n." You look at him and shut up, eyes wide. "That sounds good." He draws out the words, slow and measured, as if to reassure you. "I have my van if you want a ride." He points his thumb toward the parking lot, the corners of his lips quirked up softly.

"Yeah, okay." You smile gingerly, grabbing your books. "Did you maybe want to get your textbook from your locker first?"

He chuckles, keeps walking to the van. "I uh, I don't exactly have a textbook for this class. Or any class."

"Oh, right. Well you can use mine if you want."

He stops at the van "Ever so kind, y/n." and opens the passenger door for you.

His van is comfy, same as always. He plays music that's a little loud—not too much, but it makes you feel lively, the bass and drums in your chest—and you even find yourself singing along.

He turns down the volume, Paranoid fades into the background. "You like Black Sabbath? How am I only finding this out now?"

"Oh, um, yeah, and my dad likes 'em too. Paranoid is like one of my favourite albums." You fish in your bag and pull out a cassette tape. "I made this new mix a couple weeks ago actually."

He takes it from your hand, glancing between it and the road. You tense at that, fingers digging into the leather of the seat, but he keeps driving smoothly. He runs his thumb over the neat handwriting.

"Mötley Crüe, Iron Maiden and Metallica! Shit, y/n, I think I've met my match."

"Your partner in crime," you quip.

"The Bonnie to my Clyde."

You both giggle at that. "Don't tell me you're a burglar now. We're going to my house!"

He chuckles. "Speaking of which it's this way, yeah?"

"Almost. Next turn in." You point to the entryway.

"Right, right. I was a little high the last time I was here." He says.

"A little?" You scoff. "You ran over my mom's rhododendrons. I had to tell her it was the neighbour's dog."

"I'll get her new flowers," he huffs.

"No, you won't."

"No, I won't." He's grinning like an idiot.

You room isn't terribly messy but you scramble to shove the pens, books and notebooks off your bed and onto the desk. He has given you a ride home before but never dared enter. You never dared to ask him in.

"Sorry, I was up studying last night," you murmur as you neaten up. There are a couple cans of red bull on the pillow and you sweep them into the little trash bin. You opt to leave the cassettes and walkman on the bed.

"I would say I get what you mean but I'm not exactly renowned for my studious tendencies." He glances over at the books like they're written in another language. "But I have had my fair share of all-nighters."

"Playing at The Hideout until dawn then passing out in your van after does not count." You joke. He laughs and your stomach jumps.

"Right. So, where do we start with this project." He moves over to the bed, sitting close as you flip through the textbook. Your thighs touch.

"Well, we have to argue here that Othello's downfall is his own fault, not Iago's." You point out each character, explaining with your hands. He watches closely.

"And on the other hand we have to argue that Desdemona isn't as innocent as people assume she is. Then we tie both arguments together to explain the tragedy."

"Ok. Lead the way." He says.

About two hours later you're surrounded by half-eaten snacks, more empty Redbulls and a stack of various tapes.

"This Othello guy, he really loves that Desdemaria."

"It's Desdemona. And loves?" You drop the flash cards onto the bed. "He literally kills her." You chuckle.

"Well, yeah, but only cause he was so mad that she betrayed him." His tone is light, as if he's still pondering. "And he did it to redeem her, you know, so she could go to heaven or whatever. That's kind of love, right?" He rests his chin on his palm, knees crossed up on the bed.

"That's kind of beautiful, Eds. And brilliant. Write that down," you order, gesturing with a pen. He can't help his laugh, murmuring a subtle 'okay bossy.'

"What was that?"

"Nothingggg," he drawls, scribbling down the note. "Now, this is officially the longest I have ever sat down and worked so I think it's time for a break."

He gets up before you can stop him and walks over to the shelf with books, CDs, cassettes; all of your junk.

"This is cute," he says, holding up a framed photo of you and a sad looking, very wet cat. "Yellow galoshes were very in back then."

"Totally, but Bat wasn't a big fan of the rain. Hated getting his ears wet."

"Bat?" He sets back down the frame ever so gently. "Interesting name for a kitty." You continue to speak as he looks through the book titles, nerves in your stomach mixed with some other warm feeling. There's something intimate about having Eddie look around your room.

"I couldn't say my Cs when I was little." You laugh. "He kind of suited it though. He had little flabby bits under his arms that looked like wings." You gesture to your underarm, jiggle it a little. He chuckles.

"There's a cat just like that living under my trailer." He scans the highest shelf as he speaks, balanced on his toes. "I just call her Mews though. Sometimes she'll come up and— wait, what is this?"

You startle off the bed, terrified of what he has found. "Oh, God, what?"

He holds out a sizeable bag of weed.

"Oh, I-" you start.

"If you needed me to teach you how to roll up you should have just asked," he says, fishing for some papers in his pocket. "Can't believe you've been buying from me all this time and haven't smoked any of it." He's shaking his head but smiling nonetheless.

"Oh, it's okay, Eddie. I...I don't smoke." You place a palm over his hands, stop him from peeling open the bag. Suddenly you feel overwhelmingly guilty, your voice gets smaller. "You can have it back if you want. Sorry if I wasted your time." You stare at your shoes.

He puts the bag on the shelf. "You could never." You look at him now, his eyes honeyed brown. "Like I said, you're my favourite customer, but that's not cause you bought so much weed." He's grinning, laughing airily. "Like, a ridiculous amount of weed. But really. You're great to talk to, y'know."

"Really?"

"Sure thing. That, and the fact that you look real pretty when we do talk. You get all flustered and shy." He's smirking.

"Shut up." You shove his arm. "Let's finish this dumb project."

You sit a little closer now, knees crossed under you both and nearly touching as you swap pages of notes to read. But none of it is going in. The words are buzzing on your tongue.

"Eddie?"

He looks up at you.

"I like to talk to you, too."

He shuffled closer, your knees touch. The cutouts on his jeans line up just right; you're skin to skin.

"That's good to know," he drawls, shit eating smirk plastered across both cheeks that fades as fast as it had appeared. "But wait, why the weed?"

You flush from the neck upwards. "Didn't know how else to talk to you," you mumble, but he hears you. "It's also why I kept coming to the Hideout."

"Ohhh, see now that makes sense. Lovely thing like you doesn't belong in that dump." His fingers play with the straggly bits of his ripped jeans, knuckles brushing your knee. He moves his hand up, barely grazing your thigh. "I can't believe you did all that just to talk to me."

You cover your eyes with your fingertips, press hard. "It's dumb, I know," you say. But he doesn't think so.

Eddie takes your wrists, slides his hands up so his palms are against yours. His fingers are warm, calloused and smooth.

"It's not. It's really not." He says, leaning forward.

You whisper "Eddie." And close your eyes.

"Tell me to stop and I'll stop."

You press your lips to his. They're wet, plump from his nibbling. Your hands come to the nape of his neck, hold onto the hair tight. He shudders, pulls back.

"Have you done anything like this before?" His voice is achingly soft, a little higher than you expect. His fingers come to hold your face, thumbs pressed into the space under your eye. You could laugh, cry, shout into the pillows.

"Uh, not with anybody. I tried by myself before but I couldn't figure out how to..." you trail off.

"That's okay. You want to?"

You nod.

"Words please, shy girl," his thumb swipes over your lip.

"Yes, Eddie. Yes."

His hands move to the hem of your shirt. "Can I?" He waits. You lift your arms over your head.

Your bra has a little pink bow right at the centre, but the lining is black. He's hard already. "This just for me?" he asks.

"Uh, kind of," you're smiling a little through the words. "Wear stuff like this normally anyway though. It's soft, see." You, ever so innocent, bring his hand up to feel the band under your arm, just before the cup.

"It is. You're beautiful, though. Don't need this thing." His hands slide back to the clasp. "Can I?"

You breathe out a "yeah."

Not long after he's between your legs and similarly in a state of undress, his tongue flicking at your clit, just one finger working your pulpy walls open but it has you keening.

Your skin is balmy, hands resting on your ribs as you watch him over your rising and falling chest. "Can you cum for me, pretty girl? It'll be easier if you cum first," he says, "if you want to do that part today." He pauses and you whine.

"Yes, please. P-please, Eddie, don't stop." Your hands find his hair, scratching at his scalp. Your back arches up as he adds another finger, cooing at your little sounds of pleasure.

"Such a good girl, gonna give it to me now, yeah?" He sucks harsh on the bead of your clit, tongue pressed flat against it inside his mouth.

"Yes, Eddie, I-ah!" You moan, high in the back of your throat, breaths heavy and quick. Your legs shudder, closing on his head, and he laughs into your cunt, pushing one thigh back out with his free hand.

"Fuck, babydoll, there you are. That's it," he praises as he lays off your clit when you squeal, still gently stroking his fingers up, up, up inside your fluttering walls.

You clasp his cheeks between your hands, bring him up to your face. You're still a little breathless when you ask for a kiss. He happily gives it to you.

Against his lips you plead "Eddie, I want you inside, please. 'M ready now, promise."

He's scooping you up then, both arms steady around your back, and puts you in his lap. Your legs are spread over his, though he's still in his boxers and you tug at the band.

"Off, please."

"So needy. Who knew my shy girl had it in her, hmm?" You do your best to hover over him on shakey legs as he shuffles the boxers off, wiggles them down his legs.

"You ok to be on top? Want you to go at your own pace," he says, hands firm on your waist. You nod at him, baby hairs stuck to your wet forehead.

His eyes are soft, caring, something akin to adoration glimmering in them. "It's probably gonna hurt a little, okay, but not for long. You want to stop at all and we stop, okay? Don't try keep going, even for me."

You press your fingers into the back of his neck, interlocked. "I trust you, Eddie." You rest on his shoulder, suckle at his neck. You love the little purple hues left behind.

You go to move, hesitate. "Can you-I'm not sure how to..."

"Sh, it's okay, I'll talk you through it. Just sit up on your knees for a sec, okay." He takes one hand off your waist, lines himself up. Feeling his head swipe up and down your slit has your knees already buckling. His grip on your flesh tightens.

"Ok. Now, slowly, sit down and take whatever you can. Doing so good for me." He kisses your cheek.

You look down and watch as you lower yourself, knees a little creaky. The second his tip breaches your entrance you yelp, a sharp pinch that had you squeezing your eyes shut.

"You're okay, breathe for me, gorgeous," Eddie says, both hands now on your hips, holding you steady. You heave a breath, sink down more and more.

You relax as the full feeling of Eddie being inside you takes over. He feels heavy inside you, not too thick but enough that your walls can pleasantly squeeze around him.

He's groaning the whole time, lips on your temple murmuring praises into the skin. The second you're fully seated you both gasp, the stretch and depth of him becoming comfortable inside you.

"Shit, you feel perfect inside. So soft and warm." He lets out little grunts, trying to stay as still as he can. You rock your hips forward, clit catching his pubic bone.

"Ah, Eddie! Fuck. So deep." You keep up the rocking, little moans at the beginning of each breath. Eddie's mouth drinks them down.

You stop for a second, walls clenching tight around him. "Is-does it feel ok for you?"

"Yeah, it's better than I could ever even imagine, babe." He brushes hair off your forehead. You wanna try something else?" He moves his hands to your back, slides down to hold the back of your thighs. "Try bounce a little, okay?"

You do as you're told, the drag of his cock along your walls is heavenly. He hisses between his teeth. "Shit, that's it, that's really fucking good, babe."

You lean back on your knees for better leverage and suddenly he's hitting your sweet spot every single time. You nearly scream, clamping a hand over your mouth. Eddie is quick to hold your wrist.

"Nuh uh, lovely girl, want you to make some of those wicked little sounds for me, yeah?" He places two fingers on your clit, pressing down and rubbing quick.

"Oh, Eddie, I think I'm gonna—oh fuck!" You bounce down hard and heavy on his cock as you cum, grip like a vice around him. He laughs underneath you, a sound of pure joy. "Shit, that's fucking insane," he pants.

You nearly slump forward on him but he pushes you back instead, guiding you to lay down. He pulls out slow as you whimper, using your wetness to pump himself hard and fast. "Where'd you want me, pretty?"

Looking up at him with doe eyes you draw circles on your tummy with your fingertip. "Here, Eds, cum for me right here please?"

His eyes screw shut. "Ah-shit." It feels warm and wet on your stomach. You press a fingertip into the hot spurts, bring it to your tongue. Your eyes flutter shut and Eddie groans.

"You're full of surprises, y'know that." He collapses beside you, pulling you in close. "Beautiful, beautiful girl."

"Can I? Be your girl?" you ask, fingertips dancing up his arm.

"Course you can." He whispers into the shell of your ear "My wicked, shy girl."

Sorry that was LONGGGG but I hope u enjoy.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson stranger things #eddie stranger things #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader

2K notes · View notes

cosmicbash · 3 years

Note

Would you maybe write something about a scenario where Em and Colson are hate fucking and Em never spends the night, but on a particular occasion, Colson is super sad/stressed and (while trying desperately to hide it) starts crying from the idea of Em leaving, so he stays and is really sweet? (Also, sorry if I went this twice–my computer's being really weird and I can't tell if it did it already!)

This isn't perfect but!! Everybody is on an angst kick and I wanted to join in so I'm using this ask 😤😤

They aren't dating.

Marshall's cock is drilling in and out of Colson's ass but that doesn't mean they're together.

It wasn't supposed to escalate to this. He's not supposed to be manhandling a stupidly long leg up in the air or swatting away the other man's helpful hands while he switches their position for the 3rd time. Hips never stopping their rapid punching forward to draw out more and more curses.

Paul wanted them to mend their beef. Come to a mutual ground of disdain at the minimum. Not bash heads together so many times over their short meeting they end up in bed together instead. Teeth and fists completely changing their plan of attack.

"F-fuck! Right there-" Marshall's definitely not supposed to be watching this annoying twink throw his long neck back and whine. Colorful arms stretching up above him to uselessly grapple onto the pillow behind his own head. "Please!"

This wasn't supposed to be the 10th or 12th time they did this.

"Shut up-" his voice is scratchy when it should be calm. "The whole floor is gonna hear you-" Paul thinks they're here mending bridges and discussing a feature.

"Then fuck me right-" Colson's voice is just as rough sounding. Marshall hates that he knows the difference between the twink's usual tone and this ruined one. How it will only get this way after he's forced his cock down the brat's throat one too many times in their foreplay. "L-learn- ah- where to stick it without directions dude!"

"Shut up." He's bruising Colson's thighs now. The dark red indents from his fingers are going to turn purple by the morning. Not that he's ever seen them do it in person at least, but the blonde never fails to send a picture over text every morning after. "Maybe if you tightened your pussy up we'd both have more fun."

Colson's chest is arching from his harder thrusts now. Voice climbing a little higher almost mockingly with each moan as he slams to the hilt.

Marshall wants to kiss him. Smother that annoyingly pretty mouth with his lips but it's not possible. Not in this position where the other man's unnecessarily large stature puts him so out of reach.

That's a good thing though, because they really don't need to be kissing. A few heated pecks here and there to get the blood pumping is one thing, making out while he fucks the blonde speechless almost feels too intimate to consider.

Theres no space for that in these brief hook ups from hotel room to hotel room, not when they still hate eachother too much for any of the burning heat they have between them to simmer down into a comfortable warmth.

"Stupid whore." His lips are pulling back in almost a snarl this time when he forces Colson over onto his stomach instead. Cock slipping free and almost losing the condom he's got slipped over it from just how quickly he pulls out. Like Colson's hole is challenging his accusation of looseness. "Fuck-" he just wants to smother the brats face down into the pillows. He tells himself his anger isn't from not being able to reach.

An impatient yank and the condoms tearing. Leaving Marshall all but ready to go put his clothes back on and storm out. There's a nasty swirl of emotions going on inside his stomach that he really doesn't want to risk bursting while they find and put on a replacement.

"W-what're you waiting for?" Colson's back is arching, and that pale mop he calls hair is lifting up to look back. So needy he can't even pause for one minute.

"Fucking condom broke- just, shit, just give me a minute-" Marshall doesn't even know where to look, not with all the blood pooling in his cock and his focus begging to be set on his rivals waiting body.

Colson put the thing on him, he can remember that much, one of those prissy little manicured nails probably scratching the elastic as he did it. He's sure he must have one in his wallet but that's across the room in his sweats, by the bathroom door. Where Colson's impatience about even waiting to let him finish his piss and get undressed had left him falling back into the door.

If he has to walk all the way over there to get it he might as well just go home.

"Forget it. I'm done." They shouldn't be fucking like this anyway. It's a major mistake.

"What?" Colson's fingers curling around his wrist is a new sensation. The wide look to his half hidden eyes punching something deep within Marshall's stomach. "We haven't even come yet-" there's a hint of hysteria in the blonde's tone and smile. "If it's because of what I said then- t-then I'll bite the fucking pillow or something alright? Don't be so dramatic dude-"

"I don't have another condom-" It's a weak excuse, they both know Colson evidently has some somewhere in the room of his own. But Marshall needs to take this brief chance to get out now before he loses it. The longer Colson stares at him the more nauseous that feeling bubbling up has him.

"...Forget it then-" the blonde's finally looking away, almost convincing Marshall that he's also second guessing this sex. But those long delicate fingers are still clutching onto his wrist and there's a palpable silence cutting through the air so thick he feels like he might choke before Colson's baby blues are meeting his head on once again. The shimmer of anxiety impossible to hide between long bangs. "Just do it raw. I-I'm clean and I- you- fuck," there's shame mixing in the look now, the grip the blonde has doubling down when Marshall reflexively tries to pull back. "Don't…."

Go. Don't go. Colson isn't saying it but Marshall can hear the word clear as day between them.

It's about the sex. He isn't satisifed yet. If Colson had cum already the bastard wouldn't be hesitating to kick him out. That's what Marshall's mind screams to reassure himself but there's still a hollow place in his stomach where he feels gutted by the look.

"...f-Fine." He tries to justify staying by remembering how annoying and painful blueballs can be. "But don't fucking text me tomorrow whining how my jizz is still leaking out of your ass."

His free hand settling back down on Colson's hip finally snaps whatever weird fog has blanketed the room. A forced sounding snicker muffling itself against the pillows while Colson's legs readjust to raise his ass. "If you can even get back inside without nutting old man-"

This kind of banter is more comfortable.

"Keep talking, I'm gonna fuck you until you're crying for me to finally finish."

"You wish." Colson's voice is still muffled but the slight challenging swing of his hips says more than enough.

Marshall's fingers instantly find their previous spot, each digit mirroring the small red dots on the opposite side of the younger rapper's skin.

The lubes still nearby on the bed luckily, allowing him to be quick as he reslicks his achingly hard cock and squirts an extra dollop directly on his partner's hole for good measure. As much as he loves hurting the punk doing so in this way would only cause them both more trouble.

"F-fuck-" Of course Colson's as tight as a vice when he finally tries to push inside. The tight ring of muscle rejecting his entry just as vehemently as he's sure the boy's heart would. They can't do anything pain free, like the world is punishing them for continuing their facade. "Relax-"

"Thought you said I was too loose?" Marshall can practically hear that smug little smirk Colson's sporting.

Defiantly his hips jerk forward a bit harder, until the blonde actually does cry out and his legs spread the tiniest bit wider. The tight clench Colson has evidently been giving his hole relaxing instantly to let him breach. A string of curses and clawing hands keeping Marshall from fully basking in the incomparable tight heat slowly engulfing his cock.

Even with a pillow clutched close against his face Colson is loud. Each noise climbing alongside his pace as he starts properly fucking his rival yet again. Until they're almost back up at full throttle and Colson's mesmerizing back is arching, a large hand jerking up to plant itself flat against the headboard. "Fuck, fuck, please, just like that Marsh, god- baby d-don't stop-"

The slip of a nickname doesn't escape Marshall's notice, he's just too focused on chasing down his own pleasure to properly care. Once they're done he'll mention it. Or maybe even just wait until tomorrow to text the brat a reminder, but for right now he keeps pumping his hips. Heart warming uncontrollably at the mere joke of being someone Colson can call baby.

Reflexively his palm claps down hard on the other man's ass, too sharply and sudden to do anything but sting. "Ah, f-fuck!" He's taking his anger at his own feelings out on Colson and it's not fair but he can't help himself.

The red imprint of his hand glares back in his vision long after a kinky smack should have faded and just the sight of it sticking around gets Marshall's pace growing a little erratic. He wants to tear the blonde apart, shred every bit of his being to pieces and then sew it all back together to see the taint his touch has created visualized as hundreds of scars. He wants to sully the blinding beauty he sees everytime they meet and everytime he glimpses back at the bed before he leaves. Just ruin Colson completely so that there's no other choice but him in the whole world for the blonde to turn to.

But he's not falling in love.

That would mean he's stupid enough to fall for someone who could never settle for him. That he's actively continuing to come back and push the bar with every hookup just to see when enough is enough and he'll finally be left on the otherside of the hotel room door. Or the one waking up alone in bed the morning after.

Marshall wouldn't.

"S-shit wait- I-" Colson's hips are stuttering back to meet his, the hand he's still got hugging the pillow abandoning it in favor of stuffing down between his legs. It's obvious the blonde's close. Marshall can feel it in the tight grip around his cock and hear it in that shaky voice. It's not until he doubles down to fuck the younger rapper hard enough to knock his slender body inch by inch further up the bed that Marshall realizes he's trying to hold out. "N-not yet, ah, fuck, s-slow down-"

"No-" he's close himself, chest heaving and balls tightening as it is. There's no way he's letting Colson try to change the pace now. "Save, fuck, save that edging shit for after I leave-" he's lashing out for control again but can't stop himself.

This time instead of pinching pale skin Marshall slides his fingers up into sweaty blonde hair. Yanking back until he's got the man's back arched perfectly and his mouth can seal in a bite to one pointy shoulderblade. Fingers snaking around to hold Colson up there by his throat. "Fucking take it like a good whore and come Kelly."

In this position he feels unbelievably deeper and there's nothing to block out the blonde's gasps and cries.

Nails scratch quickly along his thigh but Marshall ignores them to keep rolling his hips. The need to make Colson finish first fueling his free hand to climb up to knock away the punks own. Quickly jerking up and down over the soaked cock the other man was trying so hard to squeeze and restrict.

"N-no, no, fuck, Marshall-" a hand's curling around the back of his head to pull him close despite Colson's protests. Every atom in the other males body seeming to reach out and beg and plead for him to come closer, to fuck him harder until they split through the magnetic field and combine into one. Marshall wants to kiss him again. Hates how he can't even see the brats mouth over his shoulder from his current position. His fingers fly faster and hips roll up firmer in retaliation. "F-fuck-"

There's a wet sob breaking the moans in the air, piercing straight through his chest like a bullet while Colson's hips stutter back and hot release paints across his fingers. Sending him right over the edge himself. Body forcing them both forward so he can hump and grind his pelvis against Colson's ass down to the bone while he pumps and fills the twink up with his own release. The hands around his neck and cock turning into strong arms around the blonde's chest and waist like a hug.

It's the closest thing to a cuddle Marshall will allow himself. That he can't actually prevent his orgasming body from resisting.

There's so much comfort and begging from his body to stay like that, for Colson to never leave him in those moments that the rapper can't help but tear up a little himself.

But just as quickly as its come sensibility returns and with it the guilt and shame. Scaring his arms free and his body away from Colson's usually still trembling form.

"Wait-" fingers are grabbing his wrist again, weaker this time.

Marshall's still buried to the hilt, even though his chest has unstuck itself from Colson's museum print of a back tatt. Sorry is dancing on the tip of his tongue. Like it always does. Always too graceful to ever trip up and spit out though before he finally leaves.

"A-again." Colson's face is still buried in the pillow, eyes and nose planted firmly down while his chins pulled up.

"What?" A second round isn't completely crazy for them, sometimes when the anger is hot enough its even necessary but not tonight. Marshall shouldn't even be humoring the request, not with how fragile his emotions feel, but Colson's hand refuses to let go.

"Fuck me. Please. Just-" Now with his head clearing the rapper can finally notice how Colson's shoulders are turning inwards, how the tone of his voice carries a shake. "Do whatever. I-I dont care. Just don't- fuck, d-don't-"

Go.

Leave. He has to leave.

"Colson?" The name feels strange in Marshall's mouth from all the "kelly"'s "brats" and other derogatory words he usually uses in it's place.

Wet baby blues peering back all but pin him in place whether he wants to leave or not. Their message clear.

"Please." A single word and it's as effective as a sledgehammer around his heart.

"I-" Can't. Shouldn't. "I'm not hard anymore."

On a normal night that kind of obvious embarrassed blurt of an answer would get the kid smiling, one of those rare soft warm looks where his crows feet and gums showed, that scorched Marshall's skin from how brightly it radiated affection. Each chuckle or snort following just another stone slamming hard against his heart.

Tonight Colson doesn't smile. Instead of crinkling at the corner to flash the only hint at Colson's slow aging those lashes drop just low enough to bubble up the small collection of tears already present. His pretty but thin lips quivering up and down to fight back a frown.

A year ago this exact look was the center of so many fantasies. He had wanted nothing more than to see the blonde crumble and break apart in front of him like a pathetic mess.

Right now instead of satisfaction all Marshall's body feels is hollow. Like his heart has finally abandoned his chest and surrendered itself to the hopefully quick acting acids of his stomach. The rapper doesn't think he can possibly feel worse but then Colson's arching his body away from him. Slipping his soft cock free of that lingering tight heat and stealing away any trace of faux comfort he feels with every centimeter of separating skin.

"I'll take care of it-" Colson's voice is hoarse, like hes fighting down the threat of a sob while his body twists onto its side. The sluggish lift of a hand back towards his cock piercing through him like a killing blow.

"No." Now his throat feels tight too. Shame and guilt pouring down his spine at the thought of Colson pushing through his obvious pain and turmoil to jerk his cock back to life just so he stays a few moments longer.

"Please-" Baby blue eyes are shining at Marshall again. The fast slip of a tear down one flushed cheek only making his fingers dig harder into younger male's wrist. "Marshall-"

He can't do this.

"No-"

"Yes!" Colson's scream pierces the silence so suddenly he thinks his wars might be ringing. But the pure desperation painted in angry eyes keeps Marshall's own from flinching all the way closed. "I'll fucking find you viagra or- or suck your dick until my jaws sore-" now Colson's own fingers are cutting back, prying at the preventative grip he's got on the blonde's hand like a caged animal might. "I don't care what- just- you- you aren't- you can't-"

It hurts, and with the way Colson's legs are twitching beneath him Marshall knows a kick or knee to his gut might come next. None of it compares to how badly his throat tears when he speaks though. "I'm not fucking you!" Somehow he manages to put every ounce of finality in his voice that he intends. Freezing Colson's grappling and rambling in an instant.

The ensuing silence feels deafening.

Colson's still staring at him. Pain and anger warring across his face in small twitches and ticks. Marshall's mouth just repeats itself. Quieter this time. The heave if his lungs breaking up his words in tight exhales. "I'm not….I….I'm not going to fuck you."

There's a million more words tangling on his tongue. The order jumbling and backing them up like a traffic jam until he feels like he can't even breathe anymore.

I want to stay. I'm sorry. Dont do this to yourself. Please. Don't cry. Colson-

"I'm sorry." Colson cracks first. Expression screwing up and the floodgates behind his eyes opening as he sobs. "I'm so fucking sorry Marshall-"

This time he doesn't resist that ache to kiss the blonde.

It's messy and Colson's mouth tastes like snot and tears already but Marshall presses closer anywhere. Cradling the younger rapper's skull with his free hand so tightly he knows he has to be pulling out hair. The wrist he'd snatched pinned between their bodies in a way that makes his own ache. But he ignores all of that and kisses Colson harder. Smacking their lips and teeth against one another in hopes the words trapped in his throat might pour their way out and into Colson's. Down the blonde's own throat to reach his heart.

He kisses Colson until he can't physically do it any longer. The sharp sting of oxygen deprivation jolting through his brain and colored spots dancing behind his closed eyes before their lips finally part.

Marshall wants to press so close he sinks down into Colson's bones. Join in with his marrow and spend the rest of his life repairing every broken piece of the beautiful man's soul from the inside out.

That's not possible though so he settles for pulling Colson close. Enveloping him in his arms the same way he wishes he had a dozen times over. Stabilizing him through every shuddering sob and heartbreaking tremble.

He's not falling in love.

"I got you."

He'd already crash landed there long ago.

#emgk #asks #i love asks #im so fucking stuck with writers block #hopefully posting this helps

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