Your parents decide to relocate after an incident the summer before your freshmen year of high school, one that leaves you irrevocably changed.
But after three years away, you decide to stop running from your demons and return to Hawkins High for y...
"I really...want you to come to my show on Tuesday...as my girlfriend," he says, casting his eyes down as he rests his hands on your hips.
Pussy, he chastises himself. He wants to so badly tell you that he loves you. That he's been in love with you for months now. That you were all he thought about when you were apart. That life felt like he was living it in black and white without you; but it was like there was a filter on anything that came out of his mouth, rendering it impossible to say the words.
"Sure!" you smile, picking up the hesitation in his voice; you just figure he's nervous to have you watch him perform, so you don't think anything of it. "I'd love to! Do I get to come backstage?"
"Of course. You'll be my good luck charm," he quickly kisses your cheek. "Now go inside, it's freezing and I want to stay in your dad's good graces for more than 20 minutes."
You giggle, "Okay, okay...see you tomorrow at school, Munson."
**********************
You sit on stop of the vanity in the backstage, Eddie between his legs.
"Are you ready to go out there, Mr. Munson?" you ask sweetly, draping your forearms around his shoulders.
He scrunches up his face with a smirk.
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"Oh sweetheart, don't call me something like that right before I go on stage," he runs his hands up your thighs and under your skirt, toward your center. You feel your thighs tighten around his waist at the sensation. He leans forward, hot breath against your ear, "I'll have to preoccupy my fingers another way." He brushes his thumb along your clit over top your panties, causing a sharp intake of breath. "Now, go stand out there in the crowd so I can look at you and think about what I want to do with you later," he adds, his soft lips so close to your ear that his lower lip brushes your lobe, causing a shiver down your spine. God, every time he touched you, every way he touched you, threatens to send you over the edge.
He smiles before he quickly backs away from you, grabs his guitar, slings it over his shoulder, and winks at you before heading onto the stage. You try to maintain your composure as you push yourself off the counter, your legs threatening to buckle beneath you when they make contact with the floor.
You find a spot near the middle of the floor, not wanting to be all the way in the back where creeps and assholes could talk to you like last time, but not so close as to feel clingy or like a fan girl.
The show is just as amazing this time as the last. Watching Eddie in his element was like watching a whole new version of Eddie. With you, Eddie was often times goofy, affectionate, caring, vulnerable. To see him command a stage with confidence, speaking to a crowed without fear of being labeled the freak, but rather, the rock god, was so sexy to you.
They play a few of the same songs as last time, orginals Eddie had written, along with a new mix of covers. You're impressed that some of the people in the crowd seem to know the words to the Corroded Coffin songs; particularly a group of three girls diagonally in front of you, closer to the stage.
