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Eddie isn’t sure how he got here.
There was the conversation with Chrissy when she came to the woods to buy weed. She laughed a lot, which made Eddie laugh a lot. Then there was the conversation with Jason the next day at the same spot. No weed purchased, but the craziest sentence of all time uttered about Jason’s girlfriend, the aforementioned Chrissy, wanting to be fucked by two guys.
“She says she likes—” Jason ran the tip of his thumb along the tip of each of his fingers, “— she says she wants to feel squished.”
Jason said the word “squished” with such whole milk all-American earnestness that Eddie said yes.
“Yes?” Jason said.
Eddie nodded again. “Yes. Okay.”
Jason’s head reeled back a few millimeters, as if staggered by the simplicity of it all.
“It’ll be at her house. Her parents are away this weekend.”
“I will be there.” Eddie drummed his palms on his thighs.
“Do you need the address?”
Nah, I remember it from her and my threesome last week with Chance, you’re good, Eddie almost said, but then mentally crossed out the joking sentence with an imaginary red pen and said, “That’d be good.”
—
Next to a copy of Emily of New Moon and a soft green book with NIV TEEN STUDY BIBLE embossed on its spine, Chrissy has a tiny glass bird on her bookshelf. Its beak is broken off, sitting next to its body like the world’s tiniest party hat.
Chrissy sits on the edge of her cream-toned floral-sheeted bed and pretends not to watch Eddie. Her eyes end up on the ceiling whenever Eddie looks at her head on.
They haven’t talked about it. When he arrived, Chrissy opened the door and said “Hi, welcome in” with a self-conscious jokeyness, like she was playing hostess and it was all so dumb.
Eddie said, “Gee, thanks” in the same voice.
She gave him a glass of water and then walked him upstairs, where Jason sat on Chrissy’s swiveling desk chair with his arms folded and his leg bouncing.
Chrissy’s room looks exactly as one would expect. If you saw a school photo of her, or smelled a sample of her perfume, or heard her voice over a crackly, long-distance call, you would imagine her bedroom being this specific room, and you would be right. Plush white carpet that immediately dented under Eddie’s dirty Air Forces (“Would it be okay if those were—well, off?” “Shit, sorry, yeah.”). A queen-sized bed half-swallowed by pillows of varying sizes and purposes, with a front row of five small throw pillows, each embroidered with a flower: a sprig of lavender, a lily, a rose, a tulip, and a sunflower. Her desk is protected by a baby blue ink blotter pad. Eddie doesn’t have a desk.
The top of her nightstand holds a tub of Vaseline and two framed photos: one of her, her mom, her dad, and presumably her brother at the Grand Canyon, and one of her and Jason posed front-to-back with his arms around her, at what appeared to be prom.
What Eddie noticed most about the room was its disturbing lack of girl smell. It didn’t smell of Chrissy’s vanilla and jasmine that had wafted over to him repeatedly during their meeting in the woods. Nor did it smell of anything sweet, or even alive. It smelled like clean, room-temperature sheets and carpet. It perturbed Eddie.
The room is so quiet that Eddie hears Jason’s steady inhales and occasionally even Chrissy swallowing. He’s very happy to analyze some random cheerleader’s room for hours on end, but he recalls coming for a much larger purpose and is starting to get a if you’re back here, and I’m back here, then who the fuck is driving this bus? vibe from this particular grouping.
“Is there anything to, um, talk about? Before?”
“Well, I—” Chrissy starts at the exact same time, and then stops as if someone has told her to shush.
Eddie looks at her and nods. “Go ahead.”
Chrissy looks like she’s caught in the lights of a police cruiser.
Jason stands and takes two long strides over to the bed before perching next to Chrissy. His arm comes up and over, cupping her shoulder and coaxing her close so that she’s leaned rigidly against his chest.
“You’re okay?” Jason says it so soft and so tender that Eddie finds it grates something inside of him.
“Yeah, I’m—” Chrissy thumbs the hem of her skirt. “Is it OK? Is this OK? Did I—Am I doing something bad?”
Eddie makes a face like yeesh and turns back toward Chrissy’s bookshelf to make sure she doesn’t see it.
“No no no,” Jason says, still using a voice more equipped for a scared kitten stuck in a well from some ancient children’s literature. “Said this was all OK, right? We had a good talk.”
Eddie wonders what that talk looked like. He can’t really imagine the girl currently simpering in a room with a theme best described as “Floral Grandmother” requesting a second cock being added to the sexual equation with her sporty boyfriend.
“Yeah,” Chrissy agrees.
“And we already talked about how it’s all gonna go.”
Eddie tapped the bookshelf twice with two of his fingers, like he was knocking on the door of their conversation. “Yeah. ‘Bout that. Can I have some information? Maybe even a request or two?”
When Eddie turned back toward the couple, Chrissy was still pinned to Jason’s side. His hand was rubbing soothing motions into the curve of her shoulder. Her two pointer fingers were running absently and nervously along her parted lips. They both looked scared. Which made Eddie feel like—well he wasn’t fucking holding these people at gunpoint and assaulting them was he? They’d asked him to be there.
“A request?” Jason spits back. “Like?”
Chrissy turns to Jason, fingers still threatening to dip into her own mouth.
“I’d just rather not, like, fuck her in front of you. Other stuff is cool, but…” This image was, for whatever reason, the only one that Eddie found unpleasant when he finally thought deeply about the whole event as he went to bed last night.
“That wasn’t ever an option. And please don’t talk about Chrissy like she’s not here.”
“Jesus,” Eddie sneers. “Chrissy is very much here. What the fuck would be going on if Chrissy wasn’t here?”
Jason pictures some Chrissy-less set-up that makes his ears go red. “What—That’s—”
Chrissy doesn’t seem to register Eddie’s implication. Her fingers stay close to her mouth. She looks between Eddie and Jason with a sort of blank acceptance—not knowing what’s going on, not needing to know what’s going on. Eddie looks down to see her toes in her light pink sock scrunching into the carpet.
“Any other major ground rules?” Eddie waits for Chrissy to look his way. She stays looking at a spot on the floor.
Jason hasn’t totally de-reddened yet, though is now only fully crimson around the ears instead of all over. “No kissing her, and—”
“Don’t talk about her like she’s not here,” Eddie lobs the sentiment back at Jason.
Jason makes a frustrated, polite, grunty sound like a Gentile caveman, like ughn , and opens the palm not still grappling his girlfriend up to the heavens.
“Um, I want this to—” Chrissy pipes up. Her big Bambi eyes go even bigger, surprised by her own voice. “I want this to be nice. I won’t be able to—It won’t be nice if you guys—”
You tell ‘em, babe , Eddie thinks. He wonders if she’s ever said a complete sentence in her life. Even when she stopped by to buy weed it was a lot of Do you have—can I have—Is it okay—You’re so—That’s sorta funny ‘cause—
And yet both then and now, Eddie understood what she was getting at perfectly.
“Chrissy?” Jason frets again.
Chrissy shrugs. Her hand falls to her lap. “I’m—No. I just—That’s all.”
And then she looks up. Right at Eddie. And whispers, “I’m excited .”
It’s said with such wondrous, slightly startled, earnestness that Eddie feels, once again, perturbed.
“I gotta pee,” Eddie ignores her confessional. “And then how about we just, like, get after it, y’know?”
Chrissy nods and leans forward, pointing one of her dainty, peony pink fingernails at a closed door on one side of the room. “Through there.”
“Great,” Eddie clocks the door with a nod. “Should we say ‘go team’ on three so we can just get started when I get back? Is that what you guys say on the court, Jason?”
Chrissy perches up a bit, as if she’s open to the idea. Eddie feels like something is wrong with her, like he’s maybe taking advantage.
Jason’s chin juts out, but he seems to have taken his girl’s fragmented “just—nice—please”s to heart. “Just… Go use the restroom.”
Her request to be squished passes through Eddie’s mind again like the clear ring of a bell as he reaches for the bronzey knob to her en suite bathroom. Maybe he’s misunderstood the whole thing. Has anyone actually said the words sex? Besides Eddie? When Jason said that fucking Chrissy wasn’t an option, did he mean he was going to be doing all the fucking? Or maybe this was just a really firm cuddle that only felt illicit because these were freako Christians ? (Eddie could not, would not do this?)
“We’re having sex, right?” Eddie doesn’t turn around as he asks. “Like I’m getting head?”
“Yes,” Chrissy answers in the most confident voice she’s proffered all day.
Cool. “Cool.”
Eddie listens for any last-minute marital argument whispers as he swings the bathroom door shut behind him. He hears some movement—likely Jason holding his beloved ever closer—but no words are spoken.
The bathroom, it turns out, is where all the missing Chrissy smells from Chrissy’s room are hiding. An onslaught of that white floral and candy vanilla that seemingly oozed from her forearms.
Her sink is covered in bottles and jars of varying size and density, though mysteriously few are labeled. If he wasn’t already under the scrutinizing watch of Officer Carver he’d take a second to pick through them, but he decides to not raise any more suspicions and takes the piss that he genuinely, honestly came in here for.
And then, when Eddie walks out of the bathroom, Jason is eating Chrissy out.
Eddie doesn’t remember the last time something surprised him. But he thinks he’s never been this many rapid-fire levels of surprised at once. The order of thoughts goes something like: These people were serious?These people started without me?These people partake in eating pussy?
Eddie works to process all of these big thoughts and feelings; something he is graciously given some time for because both Jason and Chrissy have their eyes shut. Chrissy still has her little socks on. The blush pink athletic zip-up she was wearing has been shimmied off and is crumpled next to her propped elbow on the bedsheets. Jason’s shirt is off, in a way that Eddie is having a hard time reading as anything but show-offy.
Once Eddie thinks he has most of these surprises settled within him, he’s blindsided by Chrissy’s tummy tensing under her sheer little pink (same color as her nails and socks) tank top and saying, “Jason? Jason? I think I’m gonna come.”
Had it been three minutes? Maybe four? Probably, ultimately, closer to two and a half? And she was going to come ?
Chrissy makes a humming, nervous sound (why won’t she open her mouth to let it out?). Her hand comes and holds the back of Jason’s head. The muscles in her hands are so tense that they seem almost pulled taut.
“It’s—I’m—”
Jason rumbles something approving against her. Chrissy’s close lipped moan gets more urgent and rhythmic, a gagged mmm! mmm!
Eddie cannot believe this whole thing was a serious request. It was a “Chrissy’s pussy is already out” kind of serious request. He cannot believe Jason Carver and Chrissy Cunningham have him on the back foot!
“Am I interrupting?” Eddie says about two decibels too loud.
Chrissy’s eyes and mouth both fly open, finally allowing an audible noise to come from her. It isn’t dissimilar to a yip from a little dog. Her palm moves from the back of Jason’s head to his brow and she pushes him back. Jason makes a face that is the definition of the word affronted, and distributes it evenly between Eddie for disturbing and Chrissy for shoving.
No one talks again. Eddie thinks they’ve found some rare and maybe beautiful, if it wasn’t so awkward, liminal space in which this is a new experience for all of them. If Eddie was high, or less tense, he’d maybe find the notion vaguely moving. We’re not so different, you and I.
Chrissy sits up straight and crosses her legs, one over the other, which strikes Eddie as supremely cute.
Even though she was propped up to watch Jason, her hair is all messed up like she’s been rolling around.
Eddie has known teenage girls to have a wide range of vocal tonalities. He has never once thought of the word prim when he hears one of them speak. That is until Chrissy levels him with the closest her Disney eyes can get to cold and says, “I wasn’t done. And you scared me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure we can fix that.”
Eddie pictures the next few moments of this little script. Jason will say, “Well I’m actually gonna fix that because you are just getting a blowjob and not allowed near her vagina , and thus cannot make her come. ” And Eddie will respond, “Actually I saw a movie where a girl came from her throat and everyone’s seen it except you two nerds, but also actually I’m starting to feel like maybe I’m the nerd who’s watched Deep Throat alone a few times and you’re the cool sex people, which is really fucking me up, man.” (Eddie had a very fast imagination and liked improvisational dialogue).
Chrissy takes a steadying breath, which messes up the trajectory of his imagined next 45 seconds. “I like for this to happen first, if that’s alright. It makes it feel better.”
Eddie nods. “OK. Yeah. I get it.”
Chrissy nods once. “OK.”
Silence. Again. Jason is still kneeling. His hands, previously spanning Chrissy’s little thighs with rugged masculinity, are now just sitting on his jean-clad thighs. Palms upturned. He’s keeping his chin high and his gaze somewhere around Chrissy’s neck and shoulders.
Sex is a very odd thing, because Jason obviously started eating Chrissy out so that Eddie would walk in on him doing it, but now that Eddie was there actively looking, Eddie could see Jason hesitating. And the odd part was that Eddie sort of, like, got the nuanced intricate difference. But he also wasn’t about to let Jason off of his squirmy little hook.
Chrissy turns to Jason. “Are you okay if we keep—”
Jason says, through barely moving lips, “I think he’s just going to scare you again.”
Chrissy shakes her head. “Oh, no, he won’t.”
She has no evidence for this. Eddie could yell boo! the next seven times Chrissy got close, and no one could stop him. But she was right. He wouldn’t. He’d let her finish.
“I won’t,” Eddie agrees. Chrissy doesn’t turn to him, but Eddie sees a smile creep softly along her profile.
“See? He’ll be nice,” Chrissy says, like she’s thrusting a hissing cat at Jason and asking for him to pet. “I really wanna—you know how much I like it.”
Jason licks his lips. Eddie feels a slight pang of taste bud jealousy and tries to remember the phone number of that girl that lives a couple blocks down from Chrissy’s house in case everything goes kaput and Eddie is left riled up and pussyless.
“You know how much I like how you do it,” Chrissy clarifies, this time lifting a foot up to run it along Jason’s thigh.
Jason nods once. “I do, yeah.”
“Always get me there so fast.”
Jason leans forward at the same time that Chrissy leans back. Like they’ve choreographed this exact moment. As if they’re in a play.
“Uh-huh,” Jason agrees. His hands return to their post at Chrissy’s soft thighs.
He’s already headed south when Chrissy lolls her head over to Eddie. Her smile is small and imbued with coy knowledge. Chrissy doesn’t look as sweet as she usually does. In fact, her grin looks like it belongs on a certain proverbial cat who has eaten a certain proverbial small yellow bird.
“Because you know me so well,” she says, a little like it’s from a script in Eddie’s mind.
Jason mmhms . Eddie thought, for a second, that Chrissy’s sentiment was directed at him, and now feels embarrassed.
Eddie is maybe accidentally in the presence of someone witchy and treacherous.
But then Chrissy’s aura of smugness fades as Jason does something important and pleasurable that makes her say oh! and turn back to him. She reaches, once again, to caress the back of his head.
Eddie takes a diagonal step forward and to the side, just the slightest bit closer to seeing Chrissy’s pussy head-on. Chrissy says uh-huh to the room at large—a sentiment translated evenly into keep going for Jason and you can step in and look for Eddie.
So Eddie takes one more set of shifty, small steps inward, until he’s about three feet away from the back of Jason and catching glimpses of Chrissy, open and exposed, in the moments when Jason angles his head slightly.
Chrissy’s bed is across the way from a window. Eddie sees the end of his shadow casting at the foot of the bed, right by Jason. And the light from the window is shining, almost heavenly, directly on the back of Jason and the creamy insides of Chrissy’s thighs.
Eddie can see, even from a few feet back and an indirect line of sight, that Jason keeps a couple inch gap between his nose and Chrissy’s body. By the regular minute shifts in his shoulders and neck, Eddie imagines that Jason offers a sort of pointed, firm ministration with his tongue. Like he learned it from a book. Or like he explained it pretty well, albeit clinically, to an alien, and then the alien erased Jason’s memory, and then Jason had to learn pussy-eating once again from the alien’s recollection of Jason’s explanation.
Jason eating pussy at all is him being better at pussy eating than Eddie would have ever guessed before today. By the way that Chrissy is about to come (not a guess, as she has just announced it again), Eddie presumes he’s not bad. But there’s something so tentative about the whole affair. This, at least, reflects how Eddie perceives Jason.
Chrissy keeps her hand in Jason’s hair in a way that seems purely ornamental. There is no sign of pulling him closer or maneuvering him around. Eddie isn’t sure he’s ever been with a girl who hasn’t tugged him in a little once she got going, but when Chrissy comes with a high keening ah! she actually lets go of Jason entirely, fisting at her discarded jacket and moving her hips in an even circle.
“Does she—” Eddie recalibrates. The less he has to talk to Jason the better, and they really are starting to talk about her like she’s a non-verbal housecat. “Do you always come that quickly?”
Jason sits back again, this time rolling his head in a languid, practiced circle, as if working a kink out. No one really needs muscles on their shoulders like that, in Eddie’s opinion. It reads to him as lack of spiritual verve. Too much time lifting weights, not enough time thinking thoughts.
Chrissy watches Jason as she nods. “Yeah. He knows me well.”
“Hm,” Eddie says.
Jason puts one of his palms on each of Chrissy’s knees. “Baby, I want you,” Jason whispers. “If you still wanna…” Jason almost imperceptibly nods back toward Eddie.
Eddie realizes then that he’s hard in his jeans. There had been too many moving parts before. He hadn’t been able to bother noting his growing erection. Despite her direct affirmation about it, and despite just watching Chrissy come under Jason’s tongue in between smiling and batting her eyes up at Eddie, he’s finding it impossible to imagine her actually sucking his dick.
“I still really wanna,” Chrissy whispers, once again somehow speaking evenly to both of them. She scoots back on the bed, making room for Jason to sit at the end of it. She doesn’t ever look at him, though. Her eyes are glued on Eddie now, seemingly without any sign of faltering or looking away.
“How’d you picture it?” Eddie asks her.
“I was thinking—” Jason starts.
“You come up here,” Chrissy cuts Jason off and points at Eddie and then at the top of the bed.
“Chrissy…” Jason intones with that air of affrontedness of his again.
Chrissy doesn’t notice. Not him speaking, perhaps not him even existing. “You come sit up top at the headboard, and I’ll—I’ll be on my front and he can—”
“Gee, Chris, thanks,” Jason snorts.
“What, baby?” Chrissy asks with guilelessness that Eddie suspects maybe on some gut level isn’t authentic, although he can’t place why.
“Saying he about me like… Like… Like I’m not here.”
Chrissy adds a tiny frown to her practiced look. “Oh, baby.”
She leans forward and kisses Jason’s cheek. “I’m so sorry. You’re here. Of course you’re here.”
Chrissy runs hands somehow both guiding and passive down the slopes of Jason’s bare shoulders. “Should we start? So that I can feel you inside?”
Eddie makes another yeesh face and risks letting them see it this time.
Chrissy kisses Jason once, so soft Eddie wonders if their lips even fully touch. He wonders if all of their sexual acts are at this almost-distance. Chrissy answers, as if reading his mind, by placing both hands on the side of Jason’s face and kissing him with a defiant firmness.
Without breaking her kiss—long, childish, and with no sign of either of their mouths opening—she reaches behind her and pats the tulip pillow that’s centered at the top of the bed. Eddie takes the cue and knees up on the mattress with, what he realizes with belated embarrassment, is slight overeagerness.
Eddie settles himself so that he’s seated upright against the mass of pillows buffering the headboard.
“Can you get it?” Chrissy asks Jason.
Eddie wonders if this is a sort of Looney Tunes situation where Chrissy and Jason are going to keep revealing bigger and more comical psychosexual moves and props. What’s it ?
Jason stands and rummages in his pocket briefly before revealing that “it” is just a Durex. Womp womp. Doubly so for Jason. Eddie doesn’t mean to sound anti-feminist but when he wishes for a girlfriend one of the pros in the mental pro column is NO CONDOMS! written in bold with maybe some hearts around it.
Jason drops the condom on the bed and then goes for the button on his jeans, and Eddie looks up, almost in a panic, at the smooth white of Chrissy’s ceiling. It’s not like he’s going to be able to avoid the dick the whole time, or anything. But maybe his should be out, too, before first glance, or — God, what if Jason has a hog? More of a hog than Eddie’s hog?
Eddie moves to adjust his arm where it presses against one of the scratchy throw pillows. He hears Jason’s jeans crisply fold in on themselves as they’re shucked to the floor. The light changes in front of Eddie, some sort of shadow cast. Eddie looks down and front, looking directly and unexpectedly at Chrissy’s exposed nipples. She’s teetering up high on her knees as she tugs off her tank top.
Whenever they went into any shop when Eddie was a kid, Eddie’s uncle used to practically chant a mantra of hands to yourself don’t touch anything we’re not buying hands to yourself hands to yourself don’t touch anything we’re not buying. Eddie hears his voice now.
When he finally pulls his eyes away from her tits and up to her face, Chrissy is looking at him looking at her. She’s smiling that smile again, like she knows something—maybe everything—she needs to know about Eddie, Jason, every boy ever, all of humanity, the secrets to the universe, and so on.
Eddie smiles back, and it’s so big—like teeth and everything—that it kinda surprises him. She’s really beautiful, is the thing. He can’t quite read if she’s aware of this. Even the way she’s presenting herself to him now is with a graceful neutrality.
“Can I unbutton your pants?” she whispers. Her lips look pillowy, all slicked in spit. Eddie forgot, in all of his brash machismo agreements, how much he liked kissing as part of fucking, and feels a little wash of regret over him.
Eddie hears the floorboards beneath Chrissy’s plush rug creak as Jason adjusts. Chrissy has lowered herself on her knees, ass pressed against calves. Her hands are raised ever so slightly to reiterate her question.
Eddie nods. “Uh-huh, go ahead.”
As her hands wrap around his belt, one of her knuckles grazes the lower part of his stomach, a millimeter of skin exposed between his jeans and his white t-shirt. It’s the first time their bare skin has ever touched. Or maybe it’s the first time any part of either of them has touched.
Chrissy licks her lips ( licks her lips ) as she gets his button undone and goes for his zipper. What happens if her sweet blossom painted fingers barely brush his cock and he busts everywhere? What then?
“Chrissy,” Jason says. Which serves as a pertinent reminder that Jason is here.
Chrissy looks up at Eddie’s face instead of back at her boyfriend. She looks—God, he’s going to sound like the dogshit stories he sometimes reads in the porno mags. But she looks hungry.
“I wanna be—I should—“ Jason is struggling to express. Eddie wants to look and see if he’s going all tomatoey again, but he’s caught like a fish in a net in Chrissy’s oceanic eyes looking up at him. “We agreed that I’d be inside first. Before anything.”
“I remember,” Chrissy says. Her fingers run the length of the front of Eddie’s plaid boxers. He’s fine with Jason’s demand. It’s for the better if he has a minute to gather himself anyways. “Are you all ready?”
“Yes.”
Chrissy plants a palm on each of Eddie’s thighs and leans forward to position herself. Eddie watches her bicep flex as she arches her back, the curve of her ass in her cottony thong rising into Eddie’s sight.
The thrill of the view is dampened by Jason maneuvering up on the bed behind her. His hands frame her hips with aesthetic precision, as if learned from a pamphlet titled HOW TO DO DOGGY STYLE in serif font.
“You look so beautiful, Chrissy,” Jason says. Chrissy is looking, Eddie thinks, at where the guitar pick that rests on a chain on his mid-chest hides beneath his shirt.
“Thank you,” Chrissy says, but her voice sounds far away, like it may as well be coming from the bathroom.
She seems to come into herself, then, and turns her head back to her boyfriend. “Baby,” she tacks on to her last sentence.
One of Jason’s hands disappears, and Eddie watches Chrissy’s thong move from the center of her ass over to her left asscheek as Jason exposes her.
He kneels up higher on the bed to line up his cock with Chrissy’s entrance. Chrissy’s body still conceals Jason’s lower half. Eddie notes, a little surprised, that he’s now more curious than skittish about the matter of Jason’s dick. Jason’s torso tilts back ever-so-slightly as his hips cant forward, a slow push.
Eddie looks down at where Chrissy hovers over his lap. She’s looking right at him, eyebrows webbing together in that face Eddie likes so much on girls during the first push in—the mark of a slightly painful, but positive, penetration. A desired intrusion.
Jason exhales with a slight tremble in his breath. Chrissy makes a sound like ah.
Eddie closes his eyes. He imagines the hot, wet, muscly feel of Chrissy’s pussy. He pictures her as somewhere between vice grip tight and easily fuckable.
The fingers of Chrissy’s right hand dig into his thigh, and he opens his eyes to see her staring up at him, the same pinch in her brow hovering as her body now moves forward in time with Jason’s slow, easing strokes.
Her lips part before she speaks, though she speaks so softly it should probably count as mouthing: “Watch me.”
Eddie feels pinpricks of foggy gray at the corners of his eyes as he somehow gets harder.
“What, baby?” Jason asks.
“I said—” Chrissy sounds babyish. Purposefully so. “I said fuck me. Please.”
Eddie looks up to see a smug twitch in Jason’s lip. Eddie wonders how many times over Chrissy has him wound around her finger without him ever even noticing.
“Sure, yeah,” Jason concedes.
Eddie watches the bouncing, fleshy recoil of Chrissy’s ass in the space right below where Jason grips. A bedspring makes a little popping sound beneath them, somehow able to be heard over the firm thudding of Jason and Chrissy’s skin.
When Chrissy again asks the room at large if she can touch Eddie now, Eddie has nearly forgotten that he’s meant to be getting head. For a moment he had been perfectly content just looking at Chrissy while she looked at him and made pleased little gasping sounds.
When the room doesn’t respond quickly enough, Eddie swears Chrissy rolls her eyes impatiently before bouncing back on Jason twice and whining, “God, Jace, that feels so good” with a breathlessness that is unrealistic considering the girl does handsprings for a living. Or, like, high school living. Or whatever.
“Yeah?”
“Mmhm,” Chrissy hums before trying again. “Can I—With Eddie?”
Jason looks up at Eddie, and Eddie hopes that Jason knows how lucky he is that Eddie values head more than embarrassing him, because he doesn’t even say anything when Jason’s hips stutter in shyness or humiliation or self-awareness or all three when they lock eyes for the first time since Jason has been inside Chrissy.
“Sure. You can—Yes. Go ahead,” Jason answers once he gains his rhythm again. His chin tilts up slightly. “Thank you for asking,” he says pointedly, once again staring at Eddie.
Eddie thinks it’s supposed to be a power play, though he’s not sure what Jason anticipates Eddie’s response to be. Your girl asks you for permission before getting face fucked by another dude? You’re The Man, man!
Chrissy moves with such eager speed that her hands seem to stumble over themselves as she begins yanking Eddie’s boxers down a ways. Once most of his pubic hair is revealed (something that inexplicably makes Chrissy smile to herself), she dips her hand beneath the lowered waistband to ease Eddie’s cock out.
Eddie is so hard he’s actually already leaking pre-cum, red at the tip. Stupidly, he briefly considers informing Chrissy that he swears he’s had sex before, like a lot, it’s just that she’s super hot.
Chrissy spits in her hand—the woman is a harlot disguised as a Christian cheerleader—before giving him what can only be described as two symbolic preparatory pumps, considering he’s at about 150% hardness.
Eddie makes a sound like a low, needy uh and Chrissy’s butt wriggles against where Jason continues to fuck her.
She licks her lips once again, and then rolls her eyes up to stare at him beneath her endless lashes and sucks the very tip of him. Eddie says yeah.
It’s not great head for the first forty-five-ish seconds. Chrissy mouth keeps sort of bumping off of Eddie’s cock with each of Jason’s thrusts, and the times that she gets some of him solidly in her mouth end up in her miscalculating her breathing and choking without getting much of him down. But then she recalibrates. Chrissy stops worrying so much about staring up at Eddie with princess eyes and begins anticipating the slight movement forward, letting the push of Jason do some of the movement for her.
Chrissy wraps her mouth (teeth carefully sealed by lips) around Eddie’s dick, and then lets the push of Jason guide her a bit further down, and a bit further down, and then Eddie hears her take one deep, clean breath through her nose, and the next time Jason is fully inside of her, Chrissy swallows down to the base of Eddie.
It’s only for a second. She splutters and leaves some wet trails of spit along the length of Eddie when she comes up. But Eddie is almost sure that she had all of him in there for one gorgeous moment. Eddie says, “Fuck, God, again. Do that again.”
Chrissy looks up at him with wet eyes and laughs. Laughs! Happy, sweet giggling!
When Chrissy tries and fails twice to get some of her hair behind her ear, Eddie decides it’s okay for him to step in, and gently gathers some of her hair with both hands into a vague ponytail before clutching it all with his right fist.
Chrissy runs her mouth along him with a firm suction and licks once at his tip before responding to the gesture—once again prim —with a “thank you!”
Eddie bites his lip to keep from chuckling at the cutesy response, but she glances up in time to see the movement. She shrinks into her shoulders in a gesture of shyness, before breaking the illusion entirely by swallowing him up again with newfound eagerness.
Eddie watches her bob, and tries not to listen to Jason occasionally cooing something like, “That nice, Chrissy? Is it good?” with a vagueness that could be about giving head or getting fucked or the whole experience.
Chrissy responds with a sound similar to that odd mmm -ing she offered while getting eaten out, but this time, because it’s muffled by Eddie filling her mouth, it feels much more pleasant to listen to.
After a few moments of what Eddie can only really describe as group panting (his brain is doing a rather fantastic job compartmentalizing this whole event, and Eddie somehow seems to be regularly forgetting that the force pushing Chrissy’s mouth forward onto Eddie’s dick is, in fact, Jason), Eddie notes that Chrissy hasn’t gotten him all the way down again.
If he asks, he risks Jason resisting the event. Judging by the specificity of their rules so far, maybe they’d already discussed this nuance. Maybe NO DEEP THROATING is written in cursive on some of the flowery stationary that almost certainly hid in the drawers of Chrissy’s oak desk.
But if he doesn’t ask and just tries he risks…Not much, come to think of it. Being known as a head pusher, mostly. Maybe Chrissy glaring up at him. Those things should matter to Eddie, probably. But instead he fists Chrissy’s hair and with gentle force pushes her down a little more, and a little more, and a little more, until for the length of two full strokes from Jason Chrissy is swallowing Eddie whole, nose pressed into his pubes.
Eddie makes a choked sound at the back of his throat and imagines, but doesn’t go through with, shallowly fucking his hips up to feel the full capacity of the back of Chrissy’s throat. When he feels her skull pushing back against his hand he takes it as a sign she needs air and helps drag her up and off of his dick.
“That’s so good, ” Eddie says, and it comes out less like the impressed compliment it's meant to and more like pet praise.
Spit lingers on Chrissy’s chin but she doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, her face scrunches up—brow furrowing even more, nose wrinkling, mouth not so much open but gaping. Eddie’s about to ask if she’s okay when he realizes she’s about to come. His hand is still buried in her hair.
“Oh! Oh—I’m—It’s—” Chrissy cries out to nothing and no one. And then she makes a broken and brutal and high-pitched sound like ah-hah and one of her legs goes out long long long, toes flexing and gripping at the edge of the mattress as she comes.
Jason moans loudly. Loud enough that Eddie finds himself looking at him. His jaw’s gone slack and his brow caves inward, half-pained, in a look not dissimilar to Chrissy’s when Jason was first inside of her. “Yes, Chrissy, yeah,” Jason nods, though she can’t see. “That’s nice, baby.”
Chrissy’s eyes are shut tight. Eddie feels her hands clench where they’re still resting on his thighs. He’s still in his jeans, and he notes a little hysterically that they run a spectrum from most to least dressed, with Jason being the only one entirely naked. He’d laugh if he wasn’t so caught up in the odd little gritting face Chrissy is now making in response to Jason fucking her.
Jason leans up a little to glance at her expression. Eddie’s certain he’s thinking the same thing — that Chrissy is feeling really good and is about to come again and totally fucking unravel for the both of them, and that Eddie may somehow, despite him thinking it was impossible, bust totally untouched when it happens.
But Jason is either a sadist or an idiot, because his eyes widen in concern at Chrissy’s face and he stops abruptly, even going as far as to pull out. “Chris? Chrissy? What’s wrong? Is something the matter?”
Chrissy’s eyes fly open, and if she looked a little pained a moment ago, she looks distraught now.
“What? No! No—I’m— more .”
“More?” Jason half-scoffs. “More what? You were making a face like—Chrissy, it looked like it hurt.”
“It felt good— I felt—” Chrissy rectifies her tone “You feel so good in me, Jason. I wanna keep going, please.”
It’s barely perceptible, but Jason slumps inward a little. Disappointed, perhaps, that the whole thing isn’t over and done with. Eddie gets that some of it may be a little unpleasant, but now that they’re in it, wouldn’t Jason like to at least come? Can he focus on the big picture here?
“OK, OK…” Jason nods. He perches a gentle palm on the small of Chrissy’s back, preparing to return to his athletic and husbandly duty, but stills before he enters her again. The affrontedness returns to his face. “OK, sure. But Chrissy… I’d like to see your face, you know?”
Chrissy gapes at him. “How?” she asks, with a tone that both imbues genuine curiosity and shows that she thinks he’s maybe an idiot. “I can’t—with Eddie—how would—“
“I at least don’t want to be behind you,” Jason sounds like how a grown man who couldn’t whine would whine. “I feel—this is about us, Chrissy. At the end of the day.”
Us! Eddie is being challenged by something above not to laugh. But he is also being gifted by something (maybe below?) with a solution.
Because there was a girl Eddie fucked once on a trip to Indianapolis who showed him an exact solve to this current positional Carver-Cunningham marital issue.
“We can do it with her on her back,” Eddie offers with a faux-blase attitude that he hopes will make the room impressed with him. God. Fuck. What happened to not caring about what people thought?
Chrissy looks at him and suddenly says, “Oh, right, yeah!” like it’s obvious. Eddie focuses all of his energy arranging his features into something that he hopes looks like the opposite of you’re fucking kidding me have you dweebs done fucking everything?
But Jason, fortunately, splutters. “What? What are you two even—”
Chrissy is already sitting up and wiping a hand along her mouth and saying, “Here, baby, I’ll show you.”
Eddie imagines her offering some strange, stupid position. He pictures her rolling her limbs about into something impossible or impossibly acrobatic. But Chrissy gestures for Jason to scoot and then does what Eddie was envisioning and sprawls out on her back, skull resting at the very edge of the bed, threatening to tip off into the complete iteration of the pose at a moment’s notice.
“We’ll start like normal,” Chrissy says when she sees Jason staring at her with what can only really be described as a toddler’s frustrated blankness. He is too scared, Eddie senses, to say What? “And then when Eddie—when we want to—”, she offers with more fill-in-the blank MadLibs Erotica By Chrissy Cunningham, “I’ll just—”
Chrissy barely adjusts and lets her head slant back and off the mattress, “He can just go like this.”
For the first time since pre-group fucking, there is silence again. Not even wet slapping sounds to shatter the stunned-ness.
What was her body count before this dude?
“Where did you learn this, Chrissy?” Jason says, like he’s in Eddie’s thoughts.
Chrissy scoots back so her head is back flat on the bed and then engages her core—a ripple of gorgeous cheerleader muscle—and sits up.
“I just thought about it,” she says, like it’s unspecial, expected, and maybe even disinteresting. She’s comfortable enough to sit cross legged facing both boys, either unaware or unbothered by the way her thong is still askew, showing her wet, pink, fucked open pussy. Eddie doesn’t even try to hide his looking.
Eddie wants to kiss it. Not even eat it. Just press kisses along the stubbly shaved pubes of the lower labia, make out with the fleshy upper portion just barely hiding her pink clit.
In all the scooting about, Eddie and Jason have ended up sitting closer to each other than either of them are to Chrissy. And Jason is fully fucking naked. Eddie is sitting next to fully fucking naked, still hard (well, maybe, Eddie still hasn’t looked, and is doubtful it will give him the same affectionate kissing stirrings the dude’s girlfriend’s parts are offering) Jason Carver.
Eddie focuses on the set of Jason’s jaw as he processes what his girlfriend has just said. There is barely a hint of stubble on the sharp edge of his cheek, giving the illusion not so much that he shaves, but that maybe nothing grows there at all. The small patch of chest hair that sits between Jason’s pecs—this is as low as Eddie is looking—refutes that, but not with much confidence.
“You thought about—How much, Chrissy, has this thing—” Jason shakes his head, like he’s responding to her imagined responses in his mind. “Okay. Yeah. No, that’ll work fine.”
Eddie doesn’t make a face like yeesh because Jason is right there next to him, and perhaps nearing the brink of his threesome sanity, but he would make the face if he could.
But he wants to come. He wants to come on or in Chrissy and so he’s not going to make a yeesh face, or even make any sort of face, and is going to just—
Eddie claps his hands and it startles both Chrissy and Jason out of whatever future arguments they were both mentally plotting about this moment. They both actually jump a little. Which Eddie quite likes.
“Alright! Let’s keep this thing moving then,” Eddie asserts. He stands up and the remnants of Chrissy’s gagging drip down and around his boxers. It should be unpleasant. It makes his hard dick pulse, instead.
Chrissy lays back down. Right as she moves to shift to the end of the bed, Eddie sees a patch of flowers around where Chrissy was getting fucked and subsequently sat is darkened with moisture.
When he looks up to the pillows, he sees a tiny trail of Chrissy spittle from one of the times she yanked back up and away from Eddie to catch her breath.
And when Jason stands and maneuvers to hover above Chrissy—her knees obediently bending and lifting toward her shoulders—Eddie finally bites the bullet and takes a glimpse at his cock.
Jason is shaven. Shaven! Like Ken! Like G.I. Joe! But mostly like Ken! He has less pubes than Chrissy!
Eddie bravely soldiers on to get a big picture look at the whole thing.
It’s fine. Middling in width and a little longer than Eddie would have anticipated—or, okay, a little longer than Eddie would have liked . But they’re in the same ballpark.
Eddie looks up to the worst sight possible, which is Jason looking at him looking at his weiner. This whole event was not supposed to be so heavy on the potential flustering front. But then Eddie hears rustling beneath him and feels something warm against his thigh. He looks directly downward, and sees that beneath the flat expanse of his chest and stomach is a wriggling Chrissy, attempting to position herself for Eddie. He feels her breath hot on a bit of exposed skin along where his jeans are still undone. His lips part, unintentionally mimicking the air she’s breathing out as she focuses on laying right.
“Can we have, like, a second?” Jason says. He’s saying it at Eddie, presumably because he can’t really say it to Chrissy without a tone of chill out, slut. Or Eddie, personally, doesn’t know how else he would be able to make it sound.
“ Jason ,” Chrissy admonishes. Which is pretty funny, because Jason didn’t even, like, raise his voice. Eddie would, under different circumstances with a less objectionable man, even concede that that was a pretty fair request.
“Not in front of company, Christine,” Eddie murmurs, thick on the sarcasm. Jason looks up at him like he doesn’t have a clue how to read it. Chrissy looks up at him—well, upside down at him—with a smile meant to imbue understanding but actually revealing equal cluelessness. She’s adorable. Really.
Jason huffs. Eddie’s not sure if he’s ever heard someone truly huff. Chrissy sits up to look at Jason head on.
“Look, Chrissy,” Jason begins, “I know we have… I love that you share… Your feelings. And your needs. It’s what makes us so…Cohesive. Because you’re willing to do that.”
Chrissy’s feet thud onto the mattress and away from her shoulders, like she’s settling in.
Eddie wishes there was enough of a sense of humor in the room for him to bellow “ speeech! ”
“And I really meant that I’m okay trying this. But it’s—I’m starting to feel pretty neglected in this specific set up, you know?”
“Jason…” Chrissy says, and it perfectly informs Eddie of the mix of exasperation, apology, concern, and patronization thrumming within her.
Maybe she speaks in all of those short trailing offs and half-sentences because that’s all that’s needed for her to make perfect sense. Eddie thinks she’s really sort of wonderful. It’s hard to tell for sure, considering the tits and the good head and the sweet smiling potentially biasing the whole thing, but he thinks he may feel genuine affection toward her.
Jason just looks at her with raised eyebrows from where he hovers above her. He spits an expectant and confused, “What?”
Chrissy’s magically expressive face reads as briefly sad, like his confusion in this moment holds the key to a deeper wound. “Just…Be inside me for a bit. Okay?”
Jason’s brows melt into something kindly and flattered. Unlike his girlfriend, Jason’s obviousness in facial expressions doesn’t come from some beautiful capacity to communicate but instead the fact that he seems to just sort of feel four big things and that’s it. So far, from what Eddie can tell, half of the four are affronted and assured .
“Yeah?” Jason asks, but he’s already lowering himself onto her, and she’s once again parting her legs and bringing her knees back up to her shoulders. Chrissy brings her head up and away from the mattress to kiss along Jason’s neck. Eddie thinks, maybe, that he hears her mouth a “Yeah” in return somewhere into Jason’s collarbone.
The back of her head is all sweetly rumpled, silky soft, shampooed hair when she lifts up. Eddie thinks of her washing herself in that sweet smelling bathroom—shaving her legs, scrubbing under her arms and along the curve of her tits, delving fingers into her scalp. How much did it matter to her to appear pretty? Was she satisfied when she looked in the mirror this morning? Should Eddie have said something about her pretty appearance when she first opened the door in that sweet little zip-up and the little spandex shorts? Did she want him kinder? Meaner? What made him stand out for this request? Why was the sight of the bird’s nest back of her head pressing Eddie’s heart against his ribs?
When her head returns to the bed with a plushy bounce, Eddie sees her shoulders begin shifting up slightly. Jason’s inside of her again, moving with firm, strong strokes. He brackets his arms around her and nuzzles their noses together.
“Good? Yeah?” Jason kisses her again and again and again, but never once do their mouths both part more than a few centimeters. Certainly no tongue passes between them.
“Yes,” Chrissy whispers, pecking him back in turn repeatedly with her soft, wet mouth. Eddie realizes belatedly that Jason is kissing where Eddie’s dick has been only a few minutes before. Even with the cautious way that they kiss, he’s sure Jason can taste him just a little; the remnants of that salty leak that Chrissy had all the way down to the flexing back of her throat.
Something moves Jason to thrust in harder now, the gentle wet responses of Chrissy being entered turning into the firm slapping of skin. Chrissy makes a sound like she’s just stepped into a cold body of water, and while Jason continues to occupy her mouth, her eyes roll up to Eddie. They look animal and curious, trying to ascertain how he feels about what is occurring.
Eddie risks resting two fingers on the comforter right next to her when Jason lowers his mouth to her nipple. In what he hopes is quick enough to not be noticed by Jason but firm enough to read as intention to Chrissy, Eddie strokes her soft temple once. She blinks, and the blink imparts, with her magical telepathic abilities, that she is affectionately delighted by the gesture.
Eddie quirks his lips in as small of a smile as he can. Her lip quirks in mimicry. This is about us.
“Jason?” Chrissy rests her hand on the back of his head as he continually rotates between both of her tits. He hums in response, and it sounds distracted. “Can I with Eddie now, please?”
He hums again, like it’s totally irrelevant. A boob guy, apparently. Interesting.
Eddie has flagged slightly since Chrissy and Jason had their designated fuck time, and Chrissy seems to notice now. Her hands reach up above her and her tongue pokes at the corner of her mouth as she circles Eddie’s shaft with her hand from this new, slightly complex angle. Her grip isn’t as firm, but Eddie hardens quickly at the sight of her focused face and her soft hand stroking him.
Jason’s hands flex into the sheets that surround her hand as he adjusts back up, and Eddie tries to figure out how, exactly, he’s meant to get off looking at the back of his stupid blonde head, but then he retreats entirely, sitting back on his knees and bringing Chrissy’s legs up to his shoulders. He falters, then, for a moment, seemingly unsure how to position himself without hovering over Chrissy while she’s indisposed.
Chrissy doesn’t seem to notice that Jason’s fumbling for a solution. She doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s pulled out. Instead, she’s pitching upward to experimentally lick the bottom of Eddie’s dick. And Eddie’s being distracted by Jason bumbling around with his literal dick in his hand, which is beyond unfortunate.
Jason turns, balancing an Adonis-y arm and searching for some sort of solution. Eddie isn’t weak, and if he flexes his muscles they appear, but Jason’s just seem to rest at a natural flexing point.
“Put that under her hips,” Eddie says, pointing to the sunflower throw pillow—the only one remaining on the bed through all of the shuffling about.
Jason shuts his eyes and takes a long breath through his nose. “I was going to do that,” he intones. He sounds cross. Not angry, not disappointed, cross. Like a father from a TV show.
Eddie puts his palms up. “Sorry.”
Chrissy licks another stripe down the bottom of Eddie’s dick right as Jason is turned away, and the timing seems all too perfect. Eddie chances a hand down again to pet her cheek. Chrissy hums, like she’s happy about it. Eddie wishes he could get her alone in his bedroom and shake her of this stupid humming habit. He wants to hear her whine and moan and chitter and maybe if he wasn’t resigned to her mouth and could explore below her waist, get her to screech and grunt and shout.
Jason runs a hand along Chrissy’s calf. “Chrissy can you lift for me? I gotta put this pillow under you so I can—so we can do this comfortably for all of us.”
Surely, surely Jason can say “so I can be inside of you”. Surely that phrase is not a hair too far in the current scenario.
Chrissy says, “Sure, okay,” and lifts her hips up, showing off not just her gorgeous, solid cheerleader core but all sorts of wonderful sinewed, secret muscle in her thighs.
When Chrissy settles back down, Eddie sees one of her hands extend and two of her fingers drum briefly against the comforter. It reads as impatience. He sort of feels for her, is the thing. It seems that her little fantasy ravishment has had an awful lot of planning for one abrupt orgasm and about two total minutes of actually getting fucking spitroasted. Eddie doesn’t usually fuck with this much red tape involved, either. But maybe it’s a WASPy thing.
Does she know the word spitroast? What did she call it when she first asked for this to happen? Did she look at Jason directly with those bright, beautiful eyes when she was compelled enough, brave enough, to ask for all this? Eddie suddenly wants to make this next part much nicer for her.
Once Jason gets his shit together—he’s still shuffling around across the way from Eddie, still placing each of Chrissy’s ankles on his shoulders just so—Eddie’s going to squish the fuck outta this girl. They’ll have a historical plaque next to Chrissy’s bed that reads This Was The Place of The Great Squishing, Fronted By Edward Munson And Assisted By Some Other Guy, Completed Upon Chrissy Cunningham.
Chrissy makes another little sound when Jason slides inside of her once again, this time more like ooo!. To Eddie, it reads as much more performative than her previous hah s and ah s.
After he’s angled properly, Jason once again starts up a rhythm, and Chrissy—without asking this time, the naughty little schoolgirl—wriggles ever so slightly once again so her head half-hangs off the bed.
Eddie steps forward and doesn’t think about how Chrissy’s about to slide him down her throat while hanging upside down, because thinking that is going to make him nut before the actual event has been achieved. He knows this because something of the sort may have happened with the aforementioned chick in Indianapolis.
Chrissy parts her lips and inclines her chin ever so slightly to give him permission to begin before dropping her head all the way back, so Eddie’s mostly just seeing her chin and the creamy span of her throat. She has a little gold necklace on that says ‘86, and he finds it quite ugly.
Eddie runs his tip along her lips and is rewarded with her breath coming out in a shaky, nearly silent ah that doesn’t match up with Jason’s thrusting and so is definitely about Eddie.
She opens her mouth wider and Eddie pumps once, twice, allowing only a quarter of his dick in each time in a sort of testing thrust.
Chrissy brings her hands up above and behind her and perches them on his thighs. He thrusts in again.
“Can you—” Chrissy tries to call out before Eddie can thrust in again.
His hips don’t quite get the message and his tip bumps her philtrum lightly.
“Can you—” Chrissy starts again, ignoring the collision as Eddie reels back. “Your jeans are—Feels rough. Want to feel your legs.”
“My legs?”
“When I hold onto you, yeah,” Chrissy says.
“What’d you say, honey?” Jason huffs.
“Just talkin’ to Eddie,” Chrissy says.
“Well, I’m—Can you hurry it up? Maybe?” Jason strains. Hurry it up ! From the fucking Pillow Fumbler!
Chrissy looks at Eddie. In the cutest gesture ever performed before his eyes ever in his life, even cuter than her nude mid-cunnilingus leg crossing, she raises an eyebrow at Eddie from below like Jesus, this guy, am I right?
Eddie smiles so big his nose crinkles.
He made a few mental promises to himself this morning as he brushed his teeth. One was that he wouldn’t get fully naked. He didn’t picture this promise being upheld by only keeping on his white t-shirt, but genie’s wishes and loopholes and all that.
He lets the boxers go down with his jeans and readjusts his stance before her, this time with his feet planted a bit further apart and a dead set determination to really give this girl what she fucking needs.
Same as his pubic hair, Eddie’s thick, soft hair along the tops of his thighs seems to please Chrissy. She runs quick fingers along them and half-laughs to herself. Her tits are jumping in a pillowy movement as Jason fucks into her.
“Alright, Chrissy,” Eddie whispers, hoping it’s low enough to be out of earshot of Daddy Dearest down there. “Let’s squish you, huh?”
Chrissy’s eyes widen before she chucks her head solidly off the mattress and opens her mouth wide. Eddie approaches again.
“Don’t wait for me. I’ll tap—” she flutters her fingers against his thigh. “ — if I don’t like it. Just. Really go.”
“Okay,” Eddie says softly. “Okay.”
Eddie gives her another few preliminary strokes, this time with a little more verve. He feels some portion of her mouth, just out of his cock’s reach, that’s wetter and deeper and very interesting to him.
He pivots his hips further, retreating every time he sees Chrissy’s little bouncing chest heave up.
For no discernable reason, Chrissy suddenly gasps out, “I’m coming again”.
Eddie wonders what it feels like to be her, what inner machinations or thoughts are turning this into such a thing for her.
Jason says, “God, Chrissy, you’re squeezing, I—”
Eddie looks down at where Jason thrusts up into Chrissy again. When he retreats, his condom is coated on the edges with wet, creamy streaks from Chrissy’s insides.
The image moves Eddie to guide himself into her warm, open mouth again, letting her suckle along his tip and the first bit of his shaft.
“Oh, honey, you’re all creamy,” Eddie pets her cheek, feeling for where his cock is nestled along her cheek. “Jason, atta boy.”
Jason makes a scoffing laughing sound like hah that is supposed to sound sarcastic and dismissive but comes forth breathy and, from Eddie’s perspective, the slightest bit pleased.
“Chrissy—I’m gonna—We need to—” Jason’s hips stutter briefly. Thank God Eddie has better stamina this guy. It would genuinely, truly, be the final and biggest blow if he busted before him.
“Okay, Jason,” Chrissy says. “That’s okay.”
Chrissy says it like she can’t possibly hide the sad resignation in her voice, like she’s a brave girl trying to put on a brave face but can’t help but falter under the unbearable burden of her boyfriend cumming in her early. She’s sort of a little manipulative freak monster. Eddie thinks she’s the most amazing little creature to ever walk this earth and they haven’t even had a chance to really talk.
Jason’s jaw sets tight, wounded by his girl’s sadness.
Chrissy licks the tip of Eddie’s dick and he stutters forwards, gaze returning to her. Her little mousy manipulation tactics and the odd, impossible to describe knowledge that she knows that he knows all her little tricks fill him with such overpowering affection that he feels, suddenly quite passionately, that he cannot possibly let it end like this for her.
“Jason,” Eddie says, fighting against every impulse to continue watching Chrissy kitten lick along his head and look up at the other man.
Jason half-startles at the sternness of this tone.
“Stop moving,” Eddie continues.
“ What ?” Jason asks, with a tone that seems new but is actually just a combination affronted with a little bit of bafflement.
“Get all the way inside her—” Chrissy swallows up Eddie’s tip when he calls her her and Eddie realizes something extremely key at that exact moment. Earlier on, when Jason corrected Eddie about not talking about Chrissy like she wasn’t there, Chrissy was sucking on her own fingers and blinking around with what wasn’t offense (though could be read as such by her project-y boyfriend), but a “look, I’m just an object, do it again” doll-ness. God. God!
It all plays back in black-and-white slow motion in his mind, like in a movie. She wasn’t hurt by that she was turned on by that.
Eddie chances a hand down at the curve of Chrissy’s throat, just to run a thumb along it, as if plotting his path. He starts again. “Get all the way inside of her and just stay there. Still.”
“ Why ?”
Eddie feels like saying Oh my god! Oh my god! You are the world’s biggest fucking loser, un-improvisational idiot, and it’s miraculous that she’s fucked you without someone helping out so far! Where is your fucking joie de vivre? What sort of checklist-style fuckfests are you putting this poor, creative, perverse thing through?
But instead he says, “You’re gonna slide inside of her, and then I’m gonna slide inside of her, and then she’s going to hold it all for a few seconds. See if she can resist pushing either of us out.”
Eddie’s looking down when he says it. The only reason he can’t see Chrissy’s expression is because she’s already adjusting her head back off the bed. Her fingers against his leg pulse once in what Eddie can only possibly read as excitement.
She doesn’t verbally agree to it. Because that would ruin the fun.
Her boyfriend is too stupid to know this.
“Chrissy, are you sure—” Jason finally says.
“Course she is,” Eddie cuts him off.
Jason looks like he’s processing some sitcom scheme with his bright little blue eyes as he looks down at Chrissy and then up at Eddie and then down at Chrissy. “ You all are going to prank the principal?” kind of expression. Insufferable.
Chrissy pulls off the little bit of Eddie she’d been playing with in her mouth once again. She suckles the tip with extreme suction before saying “yah-huh” with a breathy dumbness that Eddie could swoon over if he had room for swooning without crushing the poor girl.
“You heard the woman. Yah-huh,” Eddie echoes her, smiling with too many teeth at Jason.
Jason seems unsure still.
“You literally just have to have your cock inside of her,” Eddie continues. “I’m handling the rest.” Eddie says I, because referring to him and Chrissy as we is too special. Chrissy must know that he means we. This is about us, jackass.
Jason straightens his shoulders ever so slightly. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Fine.”
Chrissy’s legs, somewhat centered on Jason’s chest throughout the discussion, splay out to bracket each of his shoulders.
Jason brings a halting hand to wrap around Chrissy’s ankle only once before reorienting back to his original position and sliding in. He tilts her legs back a bit and leans forward so that he’s shafted within her to the hilt, and so that her tailbone risks lifting off the bed.
Eddie clears his throat, like he means business. Jason and Chrissy, in unison, look up to him expectantly. He realizes, with a delicious unfurling of warmth in his tummy, an inadvertent straightening of his shoulders, that his favorite thing in the world is happening.
He has fucking control over the fucking room.
“Alrighty,” Eddie focuses down on Chrissy. “All settled?”
“Yes,” Jason affirms. Eddie wasn’t asking him.
“You ready, Chrissy?” Eddie clarifies.
“Uh-huh.” Chrissy bites her lip.
“Down ya go then, darlin’,” Eddie prompts, guiding her head to its ragdoll dangle off the bed.
Eddie gives himself two firm strokes, mostly to remind himself that he’s not having some odd psychosexual dream but instead this is his actual, real life.
Eddie slips the first portion of himself into Chrissy’s mouth without issue, but a slightly further press has him bumping into… Her tongue? The roof of her mouth? He’s getting lost on the specific geography and geometry required to figure out where exactly he is in Chrissy’s mouth at this moment. Something to ponder when he jerks off about it all later.
Jason, now stilled, has much more time to inspect Eddie fucking his girlfriend’s face, which is a genuinely ambivalent experience for Eddie. He feels the almost predatorial, territorial animal delight of taking something that was Jason’s. But he also feels like he is at risk of being stopped at any time. Maybe Jason would suddenly see what Eddie saw in the way Chrissy was blissfully clinging to Eddie’s thighs and then abruptly announce in his little prince way that they must stop and must never speak again.
Eddie bends his knees just slightly in an attempt to get up and over whatever’s blocking him from the curve of Chrissy’s throat. There’s a pause as Jason gives into some urge to pump into Chrissy twice, softly, and then Chrissy shifts her tongue (?) downward a little, and suddenly Eddie is almost all the way inside Chrissy’s throat. He can even see the very top of it expand slightly, almost reptilian. Does he love her?
“Atta girl,” Eddie says, breathless, aware of a finicky, twitchy muscle at the back of his thighs as he stays planted at a slight bend. “Gonna pull out, and need you to do a big breath through that nose for me, yeah? And then we’re gonna get it all the way in.”
Eddie retreats, and Chrissy does a big gaspy breath like a kid preparing to dive at the lake.
“Chrissy, are you sure—” Jason starts.
“Carver?” Eddie’s voice wavers. “Shut the fuck up. Actually shut the fuck up.”
What’s about to happen must be spiritually ordained, because miracle of all miracles,
Jason Carver actually shuts the fuck up. Eddie brings his hand to his low stomach. He takes a breath, which prompts Chrissy to take a breath seemingly automatically. The room, in all of its octogenarian floral frill glory, seems to take an anticipatory breath with them, too.
Eddie is going to have to flip through all of his dirty stories and magazines and check if giving head like this can have the effect of blood rituals, or something. Maybe they were bonded somehow, and were now connected through breath and heartbeat and bones. If that hasn’t been written anywhere he should probably do it himself and submit it to some skin mag editor.
Jason brings one hand forward and thumbs at Chrissy’s left nipple. She hums happy, and it actually sounds happy. Not even placatingly so.
Eddie mouths open up, and Chrissy certainly cannot see him from her vantage point, and yet her lips part anyways. Eddie crooks his knees once again and slides inside of her mouth, maneuvering more easily over the halfway point this time. And then he keeps going, and keeps going, and Chrissy Cunningham’s little throat expands to take all of him, and then like it’s nothing she’s filled on both ends.
It’s really quiet. Eddie actually hears birdsong from beyond the window behind him. Chrissy’s throat flexes. He’ll have to pull out almost as soon as he was in. He thinks he may have goosebumps.
He feels his balls shift slightly. Her nose. Her nose. Her fucking nose is nuzzling against his fucking balls he’s gonna fucking—
“Touch her clit, Carver,” Eddie says softly, just above a whisper, instead.
Eddie sees Jason reach downward to thumb softly at the crest of Chrissy’s pussy. He does so without comment or complaint. At least the guy has the wherewithal to note when something truly special is happening.
Eddie pictures the wet fuck of her pussy around Jason, and finds it much easier with the way her throat vice grips around him.
As Eddie thinks this, something lurches and tightens in Chrissy’s mouth—both visual and audible—and Eddie places a hand atop her hand resting on his thigh as he retreats.
Her throat opens with a gasp. Eddie’s cock brings wet spit from deep in her throat with it. Along with her spit, Chrissy’s eyes stream, giving the illusion that she’s sprung a bunch of leaks. Neither his nor her hands make it to her face in time, so the whole mess runs along her upside down face.
“Oh,” Chrissy says. Her eyes shut. She doesn’t bother wiping away the spit as it rivulets toward her brow.
Jason can’t see Chrissy from the edge of the bed, or is too focused on getting her to come again, or something, because he doesn’t say anything.
“Oh?’ Eddie coos.
“One more?” she asks.
Eddie puckers his lips ever-so-slightly at her in a little kiss motion. “Anything for you, Chrissy.”
Chrissy smiles and flumps down and takes in another gasping breath.
“How about Jason comes in you this time when I’m in your throat?” Eddie asks.
“Yeah,” Chrissy says.
Jason moans softly from his perch at the other end of the bed. What a fucking cup of Jell-O that dude turned out to be. Eddie wonders what his relationship is like with his dad.
As Eddie lines up with Chrissy’s craned open mouth, he thinks to himself that he doesn’t need much imagination to consider what Chrissy’s must be like with her parents. Not that he’s presuming, but he’s presuming.
“You should fuck her now,” Eddie prompts Jason. “I’ll get it all the way down when you do.”
Jason starts pumping again, the gesture quickly turning into that pathetic jackrabbit motion that Eddie would sneer at if it wasn’t what he also did when he was close.
Chrissy swallows Eddie down easier every time, a thought that makes him wish he could come by and do this to her daily, a thought that has him saying stupidly and rashly and insanely, “Quick fucking learner, aren’t you? Could get you trained to do this for ages, probably.”
Something wet and squelchy happens as Jason pumps out of her this time, and Chrissy makes a garbled choking sound that Eddie, in his newly discovered Chrissy Whisperer ways, distinguishes as very pleased.
Jason grinds into her once more and grips her knees and comes with a shaky exhaled announcement that as much is happening.
Chrissy’s sweet little left leg kicks out as she fights her urge to fight them. Eddie’s gonna fucking die on the spot, maybe.
Chrissy does the spluttery heave-y weird thing again which is Eddie’s signal to get out of her. They’re both prepared for the wet from the back of her throat to come forward this time, and their hands meet to catch it before it runs down her face this time.
She makes a spittly sound like she’s very happy.
Jason blinks in this sleepy, baby blue PJs way that stirs whatever it is in Eddie that stirred originally and got him to say yes in the first place to this whole thing.
Eddie wants—but actually it’s closer to the truth that he needs —to come all over Chrissy’s sweet little face. To do so means he has to distract Jason. “Do you want to eat her out for a second?” Eddie asks.
This request is outside of whatever imagined scripts Jason has held dear to during this whole event. He says “Ah—I—Ah—” and Eddie is actually fucking pulsing and is going to lose his shit if this guy doesn’t let him bust on his girlfriend’s face. Is that too much to ask? You know? At the end of the day?
“Jason? Please? Jason, please?” Chrissy sounds desperate, and on the third round of her pleading her voice actually cracks, which Eddie can’t quite distinguish between being a sign of tearfulness or a sign of her voice wearing because of Eddie’s cock. What if she wakes up tomorrow raspy ? Will Eddie just die on the fucking spot? Can he call to “check in” and jack off to it?
Eddie worries that with his load busted, Jason is suddenly going to become clear-headed and a huge fucking square again, turning from Threesome Willing Jekyll to Christian Basketball Loser Hyde.
But Chrissy’s tragic waif voice is perfectly utilized once again, and Jason says, so soft, like he’s soothing her, “Baby, it’s OK, I got you.”
Chrissy sighs, content, and this time it’s only a little put on, as Jason lowers his mouth to her. He moves with such perfunctory performance, proffering none of the kisses along her abdomen and hips that Eddie would consider as an a-given part of the process.
When Jason’s settled, Eddie prepares to say something suave and sexy about marking her up.
He says instead, with a thread-thin weakness that will make him cringe later, “I wanna come.”
Chrissy nods. “Me, too. I want you to, I mean.”
Eddie doesn’t want to come in her mouth. Well, not to say that he doesn’t want to, because he wants to come in her mouth and fuck her in every hole she has and make her laugh and maybe make her cry and maybe marry her. But he wants to see his come on her this time, is all.
“I—“ Eddie’s brain is moving too fast for his mouth (for once, for once). He doesn’t know how to tell her.
He swears, though, that Chrissy whispers, “It’s okay” before her hand wraps ever so lightly around Eddie’s shaft and she cranes her head to ease his right ball into her mouth.
She strokes him with a total lack of finesse; fumbling attempts at jacking off that do nothing for Eddie in the tactile sense, but then she’s switching balls and the stupid, shitty way she’s trying to give him the handjob feels almost cute and he’s coming all over her throat and collarbones.
Chrissy makes a high note sound like “ahhh hhhh” and Eddie knows, even though that Jason’s mouth is on her, that what pushed her over the edge was Eddie’s soft grunt and the hot jizz that’s landed all over her top half.
Some of it runs back toward her neck, pooling along the gold chain of her necklace.
Chrissy hauls her hand down to hold Jason in place, and Eddie is once again baffled by the way Jason reads it as needy instead of leave me the fuck alone. But Jason’s eyes flutter shut with focus, playing exactly into what Chrissy wanted him to do, and she quickly scoops up the come that spatters her collarbones and dips it into her mouth.
“Good?”
Chrissy nods, fingers still jammed into her mouth.
Another moment of quiet, though this one passes in a flash, as Chrissy bucks her hips up once against Jason’s mouth and makes a thready sound around Eddie’s come and her fingers. It’s beautiful, but it’s clearly fake. Her lips curve knowingly at Eddie. He wonders if she’ll let him take her home with him over his shoulder like a caveman after this.
Instead, Jason sidles up along her body and kisses her, and Chrissy wraps her arms loosely along the span of his shoulders, and Eddie is just some guy standing there with his literal dick out in some strange blonde’s room.
“That was so nice,” Chrissy whispers below Jason. “That was like a dream.”
Jason laughs softly, a low and easy rumble.
Eddie takes one step back and brings his pants up, feeling briefly like the world’s cheapest (as in free!) hooker. Perhaps Eddie knew nothing about anything, and especially not about Chrissy.
Jason pulls back and away from her and moves for the bathroom, gathering his clothes as he goes. He telegraphs the emotions: self-assured and satisfied. It doesn’t ring true. Eddie wonders how many seconds, minutes, hours, or days will pass before Jason realizes he just ate Eddie’s come from his girlfriend's mouth.
Chrissy watches Jason shut the bathroom door and then sits up. She looks worse for wear in a way that somehow makes her look better, and stretches catlike, facing away from Eddie so he can see the strong, smooth lines of her arms and her back.
Chrissy swings her legs around so that she’s perched on the edge of the bed once again, almost narratively cyclical. She crosses her ankles and looks at him, studying some symmetry on his face, eyes bouncing back and forth between what appeared to be his cheekbones..
“Jason?” Chrissy calls, just loud enough to be heard.
“Yeah?” Jason calls back, muffled by the bathroom door.
Chrissy looks at Eddie, unblinking. “Do you really have to go to practice tonight?”
Jason chuckles. An eighteen year old boy fucking chuckling. Eddie imagines Jason lighting his Paternal Pipe in his Paternal Armchair behind the bathroom door. “Sweetie. We talked about it. And you’re going to go have fun at Sarah’s anyways.”
“I’ll just miss you. You can’t come after?”
“You know it’s not done until at least ten. I’ll be totally zapped.”
Chrissy drums her fingers on the bed. Her eyebrow cocks exactly two millimeters, in what actually reads in perfect English as, You getting this, Munson?
“Kay. I just hate that it’s every Saturday.”
If this was a play, Eddie would be watching it like Christ alright a little heavy handed.
“I know, baby,” Jason says as he swings the door open. He’s now dressed, with his hair combed. “You want me to help you get dressed?”
“Mmhm,” Chrissy nods, lolling her head over to him like she was the most innocent little thing to ever exist.
As Jason eases Chrissy’s tank top over her extended arms she sighs. “It’s so hot in here.” She looks to Eddie. “Could you open the window behind you?”
Eddie turns and hauls the window open. It squeaks at the last moment, so he almost misses what Chrissy says. “I usually keep it open once it cools off at night and then close it in the mornings.”
“Hm,” Eddie says.
“Hm,” Chrissy says.
Eddie turns to see Chrissy looking at him once more. His heart beats in his throat, his temples, the bottoms of his ribs, his big toes. He’s scared of her, he’s in love with her, he’s going to fuck her on her rug tonight and not stop when she grimaces like her stupid fucking boyfriend who will be wasting his beautiful, perverse girlfriend by practicing his fucking free throws.
Jason kneels by her as he adjusts her socks. Chrissy’s gaze, almost bored, but as weighty as can be, holds Eddie’s as she says, “I’ll see you soon, right, baby?”
Jason, stupidly thinking it's for him, kneels up to kiss her on the cheek. “Course. I’ll take you to breakfast tomorrow.”
Chrissy’s cheek dimples. “Great.”