Re: At the Spooky House: Muerte / Eddie
Maybe she'd had those same sorts of thoughts - the ones she tried not to admit to, now that things had changed so much. Even in the sleepy days when she first arrived, and then more once she realized Eddie was in town, she dreamed up situations for them. Perfect and choreographed - dinner and then bed. Stars and then skin. A slow build to something that could have been scripted in a movie. And now, with the chill of the room around them and that desperately lost look in Eddie's eyes, she realized how wrong she'd been. Maybe there'd be time for that at some point. Maybe not. Because they weren't those people, as much as either of them wanted to be. Of course she loved him (she wouldn't - couldn't - be in Repose if she hadn't) but they weren't perfect movie script people. How naive of her to think so.
What she did know was that the way he looked at her - even if it was laced with that bit of darkness behind his eyes... No. Not "even if". Not like it was some sort of concession. He looked at her, and he had darkness behind his eyes, and that was part of him, and it was good. Just having him there to look at her was good, and when he reached out to touch her, that was even better. She watched, her own gaze intense, at the way his fingers slid over her skin.
The name in his mouth, though... it nearly made her draw away. Her body gave a little twitch at it, eyebrows coming together to carve a frown between her brows. It was her name, and it was what so many people called her. But it was wrong in his mouth, made a sharp bite of bile creep at the back of her throat. And she couldn't quite say why. Head shaking, frown still there, the whisper slipped out: "No..." In the moment, they balanced there, and if he pushed the matter, she knew she'd find herself reaching for her clothes again, could see the path it would take of him walking out the door and not returning. But he shook his head, his own expression betraying that he found it just as distasteful. It didn't seem to fit between them, in more ways than one, and that was something she'd have to look at more. Later.
When Eddie moved, she did too, leaning back and drawing him closer over her. His shirt hung open, fabric curtaining either side of her body, allowing her arms to slip up around him, hands slipping along the waistband of his pants and then higher, fingertips tingling at the touch of skin. She knew how few things were out there in the universe listening to any sorts of "prayers" she might give, but she did it anyway. Please let us be okay... It worked on so many levels - for each of them alone, for them together, for this. She tried not to cling to him, but her fingers tightened where they found purchase, sometimes into fabric, sometimes into flesh. Head tipped back, she leaned into the kisses, wanting to be closer. Wanting. And though the loveseat was small and awkward, she managed to shift enough to draw a leg up, between his body and the back cushions, her thigh against his him and her toes pressing to the back of his calf. It was vulnerable and exposed and spread wide, and it flushed her cheeks even as she pulled him closer. This could work... If they both believed it, it could work. She kissed him again and hoped.