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Eddie woke just after seven that morning, right after the light began pouring through his window. He grimaced as his consciousness grew enough to where sensation flowed back into his joints, which were stiff from sleeping on the floor. When he offered to let you stay over the previous night, you tried to insist that you take the floor since you were his guest and didn’t want to kick him out of his own bed. But in true Eddie fashion, he made a huge show of acting scandalized at the idea of “denying such a fair maiden a proper rest from a long day of putting up with a damn fool like himself.” Through your laughter at watching him bow to you and gesture towards his bed, you insisted you didn’t “put up” with him and enjoyed his company just the same, but knew arguing about sleeping on the floor was a losing battle, so you acquiesced and took the bed.
Eddie closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh, fully exhausted from staying up with you well into the night, listening to music, watching TV, and easily talking for hours about everything and nothing. He wouldn’t trade those moments with you for anything, but waking up the morning after you two hung out was always hell. His body rarely granted him a full night’s rest, and even if he didn’t go to bed until the early hours of the morning, he always woke up as soon as the sun broke over the horizon, like clockwork. He could occasionally will his brain to relax enough to squeeze in another hour of sleep, but that was a dangerous gamble to take, because sometimes it worked a little too well and he ended up sleeping far into the afternoon.
He turned over towards his bed see how you were faring and-
Oh, shit.
Sometime during the night, you had kicked off his comforter and bed sheets, and had shifted around enough for your sweatpants to be hanging precariously low on your hips. But far more distracting than that, was the fact the button-down pajama top you were wearing had popped open during the night, leaving your tits and most of your torso on open display.
His morning wood twitched in voyeuristic delight, to Eddie’s own disgust. Clothing malfunction or not, he wasn’t going to act like a peeping Tom and get himself off in front of you, especially if you were asleep and had never intended for him to see you topless. Sure, you might have made an appearance in a fantasy or two (or ten) of his when he was jacking off, especially if you had worn a particularly short skirt or low-cut top that day. He might be your friend, but he was still a guy. There was no denying you were beautiful, and that once in a while, curiosity nearly got the better of him when it came to the boundaries of your friendship.
Transfixed at the sight of your breasts, Eddie’s eyes traced over the curves of them to where they peaked into your perky nipples, feeling his breath slow as he winced in longing. He had seen his fair share of boobs in Playboy and Hustler, and once had gotten frisky with an overeager patron behind The Hideout at one of Corroded Coffin’s shows. But somehow, this felt different. Your arms were haphazardly thrown above your head, with errant strands of your hair spread out like a halo against your cheek, your neck, your forearms, and over his pillow. Eddie would be lying if he said he didn’t savor the smell you would leave on his bed after each sleepover you two had, the scent of which somehow both relaxed him and made him thrum with restless hankering for you, wishing that he didn’t have to keep a respectable distance between the two of you, that he could spoon you and rest his nose against your hair during your sleepovers. From where you were angled, the sunlight was cascading onto your torso, framing it in a tinge of marigold. And just out of view of the light, your eyes remained closed in the throes of sleep, your lips gently parted in an ease he rarely saw during your waking hours.
In short, you looked less strictly pornographic and more like a gorgeous renaissance painting.
He wished you were more than just friends, that he could slip his hands around your waist, stroke up your torso and run them over your tits, feel your nipples pebble against his calloused palms as he gently massaged them in circles, watching the gorgeous shapes he could mold them to while listening to your contented hums and moans as you woke up.
Using every ounce of self-restraint he had, Eddie turned away from you, lightly palming his erection to ease some of its stiffness and grunting in discomfort that there was little he could do at the moment to fix his predicament.
Hearing a quiet croon from you, he glanced back over his shoulder, watching your lips slightly stretch in a contented smile, completing your relaxed demeanor before your brow furrowed and you shifted slightly, stretching out your arms. As he realized in terror that you were waking up, Eddie turned over again, curling up in the fetal position in an attempt to hide his boner and feigned sleep, lest he let on what a horrible friend he was for gawking at you without your knowledge.
Your wake up continued with the symphony of your joints popping, followed by more quiet sighs as you breathed life back into your body. He heard your breath sharply catch - you must have realized your shirt was open - and the creak of his bed. You were probably buttoning your top back up.
He kept his eyes shut and tried to steady his breathing as he heard your feet pad across the room, hoping that you’d spend at least a few minutes in the bathroom so he could relax for a second and not have his lizard brain be swinging back and forth between being consumed by how gorgeous you were, and pivoting straight back to how disgusting he was for leering at his half-naked friend that way - while she slept, no less.
But to his surprise, he sensed you standing over him, and the shift of you leaning down over him. Shit. You couldn’t know he was awake, could you?
Feeling like he was under interrogation, Eddie continued his steady pace of deep breaths, only pausing for a second when he felt your fingers brush his hair. When he did, he felt you freeze, but resumed his breaths without missing another beat.
He savored the sensation of your fingers running themselves over his hair - he was sure it looked like a hybrid of a tumbleweed and an over-wrung mop first thing in the morning - and lightly stroking the ends before making their way back to his jawline, where you lightly stroked the back of your fingers against his cheek.
“I wish you knew,” you wistfully whispered, stilling for just a few seconds before sighing and standing back up. It was only when Eddie heard the quiet knock of you softly closing his door behind you and making your way to the bathroom that he slowly exhaled.
What was that? You wish he knew what? You had told him on numerous occasions how thankful you were to have him as a friend, how you were glad you could tell each other anything. What was on your mind that you couldn’t tell him?
Unless…
When you came back from the bathroom, you were puzzled by the look on Eddie’s face, appearing like he had just reached a long sought-after epiphany. And when you asked him about it, he didn't answer. He just timidly brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, and when he saw that you didn’t pull away, your lips found each others.
And shortly after, Eddie found out that his fantasies of what you looked like completely naked didn’t even come close to a substitute for the real thing. And when he discovered his touches could indeed elicit the prettiest noises from you, he was done for.