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Skull Rock late at night was probably not the smartest choice for an illicit hookup location, especially considering teenagers seemed to go missing or turn up dead at an unusually high rate in Hawkins, but Chrissy loved everything about it: the dark, the atmosphere, the sense of absolute isolation. She could pretend she and Eddie were the only two people left in the world when they were here together, and that alone made any danger—real or imagined—well worth the risk.
They sat side-by-side just under the overhang, hidden enough to feel sheltered but close enough to the edge that they could watch the thin clouds swirl across the sky, causing the stars to wink at them as if sharing in their secret. Chrissy held the glass pipe to her lips and lowered the lighter’s flame to the crushed flower in the bowl; the heat seared her lungs as she inhaled, but she held it down, determined to wring every iota of bliss she could from each breath. It got the better of her this time, though, and she began to cough violently, smoke billowing from her mouth with each rasping exhalation.
“You alright there?” Eddie asked, understanding laughter in his voice as he rubbed a soothing hand against the back of her neck.
“Yeah,” she croaked, doubled over, her eyes watering so badly that tears spilled onto her cheeks and splattered to the ground. She handed him the pipe and the lighter, and he traded her a canteen of water; she gulped gratefully and let the lukewarm liquid relieve her burning throat. When she had drunk her fill, she leaned back and allowed the stone behind her to steady her as she felt the familiar floaty-muzzy feeling begin to lift some of the weight from her shoulders.
“Here, let me try something,” Eddie said. He took a hit with that casual, experienced grace he always had, but this time before releasing the smoke he kissed her, nudging her lips apart gently with the tip of his tongue. She followed his lead, opened her mouth to him, and breathed him in, a warmth passing between them and filling not just her chest but her whole body, and when they parted, they both watched their breaths merge into a single cloud that drifted upward between them.
“Better?” he asked, his eyes lidded heavily in the same way hers felt. She considered his question much more seriously than she would have if she weren’t already high, took stock of the lightweight tingling that flooded her limbs with none of the burning beneath her sternum.
“Yeah, definitely,” she sighed through a grin that dissolved into a giggle that didn’t fade until she closed the space between them and kissed him again, then nestled her head against his shoulder and turned her eyes to the infinite sky above them.
The vastness of the world from up here, that was what she liked most about Skull Rock at night. It was far enough away from the suburban glare of streetlights that she could really see the stars, and the sense of endless depth they gave to the sky beyond reminded her that she wasn’t confined like she felt when she was at home. In Hawkins, she was restricted to the rules that good girls were supposed to follow: get good grades, date a jock, smile, be pretty, stay skinny…It was supposed to make her happy, but it didn’t, and clearly there was something wrong with her because it wasn’t what she wanted, and sure Jason was wonderful and handsome and kind and treated her just fine but why did it feel like when he put his arm around her, he was holding her down, keeping her trapped in the perfect little mold she was meant to fill, and suddenly the world was closing in around her and she felt like if she didn’t scream or run or do something she was going to die.
“You sure you’re alright, Cunningham? You look kinda…freaked.”
The concern on Eddie’s face brought her back to earth. She smiled, and it didn’t even feel forced.
“Yeah, I’m just—” She paused, unable to find words in the morass of being stoned, then giggled self-consciously. “Do you ever feel like…I don’t know, like your clothes are strangling you?”
He considered her very seriously and nodded slowly. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” he said. He took one more hit and offered her the pipe, but she declined so he set it aside. “There’s only one way to fix that,” he continued, his voice strained around the smoke as it exited his mouth. “You gotta take ‘em off.”
Her smile widened so it almost made her cheeks hurt-- or maybe that was just the heat rushing to her face. “Trying to get me naked, Munson?” she teased, and he quirked up an eyebrow at her.
“Maybe,” he replied. “Is it working?”
She stood and dusted off the seat of her shorts. “No peeking,” she admonished playfully, already unbuttoning their fly.
“What do you take me for, a gentleman?” he grumbled, but he covered his eyes with his hands—though she definitely caught him looking between his fingers as she shinnied her shorts to the ground.
It was strange how comfortable she was taking her clothes off around Eddie, considering that she always made Jason turn off all the lights before she’d strip bare for him. She guessed it was because she was afraid all her imperfections would disgust Jason—how could they not, when Jason was built like the Greek statues in her history books? And Jason didn’t seem to mind if he didn’t get to look at her, so long as she was putting out. But here under the open sky with the still-warm early autumn air against her skin she felt liberated and beautiful, even though the dim starlight illuminated the little curve of fat on her belly she could never quite get rid of and the dimples freckling her bottom.
Eddie had forgone the pretense of averting his gaze and looked at her with open adoration once all her clothes were cast aside, and Chrissy wondered how even after seeing her like this several times before he still beheld her like she was the first naked girl he’d ever laid eyes on.
“Well, damn,” he said softly, “now I feel overdressed.”
He only managed to tug his shirt off over his head before she was settled between his legs, her back against his chest and her face nuzzled against his throat. She could feel his pulse quicken against the brush of her lips, but for the moment she was content to just rest there against him. He seemed in no rush to take things further, either, letting his arms drift around her and brushing his fingers idly against her skin without any sort of urgency, seeming to simply enjoy being able to touch her. He kept his explorations to parts of her most people wouldn’t consider private but still felt beyond intimate under his hands: her arms bruised from being tossed around at cheer practice, the line of scars that were normally hidden just above her hemline, evidence of the tiny cuts she used to inflict on herself in middle school—before she found a new way to hate herself. His touch held a reverence that made her feel as if even those flaws made her all the more perfect.
What he was doing was causing pleasant warmth to fill her belly but she wanted more, so she took his hand and guided it between her legs; he made no remark on her eagerness, but she could hear him smiling as his fingers found just the right spot she liked most and played her body with a guitarist’s expertise. Why had it taken her until senior year to figure out that musicians were so good with their hands?
He touched her with intent but not urgency, clearly in no rush to bring her to climax, though she could tell by the hard-on straining against his jeans and pressing into her back that he wanted more as well. He was so different from Jason in that respect-- Jason who complained that she was killing him if she didn’t let him inside quickly enough. Eddie held her close, stroked her so that her pleasure built gradually, murmured in her ear that she was beautiful and perfect as her soft little cries of need increased in intensity until she was sobbing his name into the warm flesh of his shoulder while her orgasm shuddered through her.
He ran his fingers through her hair and pressed his lips to her temple, and she wound her arms around his slender waist and clutched him tightly, peppering the 20-sided die tattooed at his collarbone with kisses until the aftershocks that shivered along her spine subsided. Then her mouth traveled up his neck and along his jaw to end at his lips; she slid her tongue between them, and he welcomed her gladly.
“Fuck me, please,” she begged against his mouth when they came up for air, and he said nothing but nodded his assent.
“And Eddie?”
“Hmm?”
“…Please don’t be gentle.”
She didn’t know why, but it was so easy for her to ask him for what she wanted. She could never fathom telling Jason she liked the sting of fingernails along her back or the sight of bruises blooming purple on her thighs; she couldn’t even ask him if she could be on top for once without being afraid he’d think she was some sort of sex-crazed nympho. But Eddie didn’t seem to care if she was a freak, seemed to like her more—maybe even love her—because of it.
“Anything you want, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice rough with desire. He rose to his feet and lifted her in his arms with surprising ease for someone so lanky, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, savoring the sound he made when her pelvis ground against his.
He pushed her against the stone wall that jutted up next to them, the force of the impact stealing a gasp from her lungs, her breasts crushed against his chest as he nipped at her throat with punishing kisses. Her hands fumbled desperately at his belt and zipper, and the way he growled when her hand closed around his cock made her heart swell. The thought that she could make him feral with wanting her filled her with the same glowing pride she got from a flawlessly executed cheer stunt.
He kept her propped against the jagged rock, supporting her with one arm under her hips while he fished in his pocket for a condom, and then he was plunging inside her before the foil wrapper could flutter into the dirt. She wound her fingers through the sweat-slickened curls at the nape of his neck and gripped him tightly, embracing the sweet ache of him filling her, the sting of his fingernails digging into her thighs, the scraping of stone against her back. The sounds coming from both their throats as he thrust into her were nothing short of animalistic, and she’d have been ashamed if anyone else heard her, but she knew it was pure music to his ears.
A last rumbling gasp and he collapsed against her, both of them becoming a limp tangle of limbs and skin and sweat against the base of Skull Rock. His breath was hot against her ear as he panted, “Chrissy Cunningham, have I ever told you that you are a fucking badass?”
Laughter bubbled up from her chest, and she felt her cheeks flush hotter—if that was even possible—as she buried her face in his shoulder, grinning. Nobody but Eddie Munson had ever called her a “badass,” and honestly, she wouldn’t have believed it from anybody else.