( he only resists for a moment, then decides he can’t run forever. she’d said he was here, hadn’t she, so jem should know what she’s in for. )
I liked the taste, the feeling right before the last breathe. ( eddie says after a moment, looking into her eyes and he’s terrified of what she’ll see in his. that despite it being an accident, he’d do it again if he got desperate enough. that he knows and hates that about himself. ) I didn’t want her to die for it.
[She doesn't think he's lying. That's a funny certainty, really; two? Three months? Jem is so certain she'd know if he were lying to her. Like she's spent every day of those months carefully memorising all the micro-expressions that make up Eddie Munson as a person. She has; she's done it with other people too. Maybe it's a survival instinct. Maybe it's just delusion. She doesn't think he's lying, and even if he were, she'd still kiss his forehead the way she does now. ]
Humans can be monsters, Eddie. [Human being's most of all. Her lips are warm against his skin. ] But the regret means you've still got good in you, I think. I think when we start switching that off, when the consequences stop mattering, then we've probably stepped over some threshold.
[She says, quieter: ] It's harder to stay good. No one is just good or bad, you know? I think we choose whether we're good, or whether we stop caring.
( there is a question on eddie’s lips and maybe he’s the monster for wanting to voice it, for wanting to hurl it into the space between them and let it eat them both up like it’s been eating at him. jem’s lips are warm against his skin and eddie’s drunk on the so scarce feeling of safety and being seen beyond the mask of friendly court jester, here to draw away the attention with laughter.
he swallows, closes his eyes. in the little space between them, it feels like he can peel back more of those layers and cast them aside. ) She’s up and walking already. I’m not sure it matters.
( and that’s what eddie’s stuck on, really. the awful truth of it because if it doesn’t matter than he’s making the choice already, isn’t he. ) I’ve tried to be so fucking good for so long, Jem.
( the answer he knows he should give is simple, but that’s answering for others. that’s reading the room and knowing where the slots fit in to ease the tension and make it safe.
eddie lets out a breath through his nose, frowns. ) That’s the million dollar question.
( he leans up, presses forehead to forehead. the admission makes him feel more selfish, feel more at ease all the same. like maybe who and what he is don’t matter, that she’ll keep him all the same like he wants to keep her close.
like the beast boiling underneath his skin craves sinking its fangs into her neck, knowing it would be better than anything else. it’d a terrifying though and it’s dangerous to ask. he does it anyway, whispers between them: ) Yeah? Would you be a little bad with me?
Sometimes, [Jem says, slowly, a little conspiratorial. ] I think I've only ever been good because I don't want to disappoint my big brother.
[She reaches for his hands, lifts them to press them against her own cheeks. ] I'm not even very good at being good, Eddie. Every time I try, I always to fuck it all up anyway. I always - I always hurt someone.
( he cups her cheeks, tilts his head so their lips brush together but it’s not a kiss just another point of touch when they aren’t connected through layers of clothing. they’re whispering secrets to one another; eddie’s never had this before.
he knows what it’s like to do things to keep others happy or to prove them wrong, to fight tooth and nail when it would just be easier to be anything else. maybe it wasn’t a question of good and bad back then. except it always was, wasn’t it? munson has always been a black mark, the default is rotten and good for nothing. ) Maybe we don’t need other people’s approval. Only our own.
Maybe we just try to be ourselves, whatever that is, and we can’t fuck that up. ( ‘we’ like it’s a promise, like ianthe’s death doesn’t matter but maybe they do. ) I’m no saint either. I just hide all the mess I leave behind, burn it down - scorched earth.
[Her mouth brushes against his so briefly, so longingly. She sighs against it, brows pinching a little like she's in pain, like the suggestion is -
Is tempting. ] Same. [Her laughs is - breathless. Humourless. ] I just. What if who I am - who I really am, is just ugly? Just terrible?
[i want you exactly as you are. john does, too. and house. Danny said that. She'd brushed over it, ignored it, pretended not to hear it. Petre had - fucking Petre didn't even have to look deep to know there was something wrong with her. ]
I want you just as you are, princess. Whatever that is, as long as it’s honest. ( eddie murmurs into the air between them like a promise, doesn’t pause.
he’s so tired of sharks pretending to be anything they aren’t, tired of doing it himself and being lauded as authentic, true to himself. sure, not all of its lies but eddie wears versions of himself like armour.
he furrows his brows. ) I won’t judge you for the ugly parts if I can show you mine.
[A noise gets caught in her throat; something needy, something wholly too vulnerable. She hears it in Eddie's voice; she hears it in Danny's voice. For a moment she feels real dizzy, feels like the rooms closing in, feels like she's being pushed somewhere dark, somewhere where the light doesn't ever reach.
So she kisses him. She slots her mouth against his for real, licks into his mouth and pushes, just a little. Pushes him down, pushes herself so far into his space that she might just fucking disappear into him. Climbs right onto his lap, slides her fingers into his hair and kisses him till she can't breathe.]
( there’s desperation on jem’s tongue and eddie’s too. he groans into her mouth, goes down easy as she pushes him until his back hits the bed and he’s holding her tight against his chest.
his hands slide underneath the fabric of her shirt, desperate for skin underneath his palms as if it’s just the clothes keeping them from melting into one being. he helps her pull it off when they need to breath, pushes himself up to do the same and flips them over to pin her to the bed. )
Mine. ( he mumbles into her skin, into her collarbone and into her mouth again. she’s his, rotten or not, just like he’s hers even if he’s losing himself outside of the familiar cage of her arms and the feeling of her body against his own. )
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I liked the taste, the feeling right before the last breathe. ( eddie says after a moment, looking into her eyes and he’s terrified of what she’ll see in his. that despite it being an accident, he’d do it again if he got desperate enough. that he knows and hates that about himself. ) I didn’t want her to die for it.
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Humans can be monsters, Eddie. [Human being's most of all. Her lips are warm against his skin. ] But the regret means you've still got good in you, I think. I think when we start switching that off, when the consequences stop mattering, then we've probably stepped over some threshold.
[She says, quieter: ] It's harder to stay good. No one is just good or bad, you know? I think we choose whether we're good, or whether we stop caring.
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he swallows, closes his eyes. in the little space between them, it feels like he can peel back more of those layers and cast them aside. ) She’s up and walking already. I’m not sure it matters.
( and that’s what eddie’s stuck on, really. the awful truth of it because if it doesn’t matter than he’s making the choice already, isn’t he. ) I’ve tried to be so fucking good for so long, Jem.
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She thinks about how easy it had been to slip into old skin, pick up a gun and feel that power while people told her she was doing good.
She says, gently:] Eddie, do you want to be good?
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eddie lets out a breath through his nose, frowns. ) That’s the million dollar question.
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[She hasn’t pulled away though. She keeps him there; keeps herself right here, anchored to him.
Admits, very quietly:] I’d still like you, even if you didn’t.
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like the beast boiling underneath his skin craves sinking its fangs into her neck, knowing it would be better than anything else. it’d a terrifying though and it’s dangerous to ask. he does it anyway, whispers between them: ) Yeah? Would you be a little bad with me?
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[She reaches for his hands, lifts them to press them against her own cheeks. ] I'm not even very good at being good, Eddie. Every time I try, I always to fuck it all up anyway. I always - I always hurt someone.
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he knows what it’s like to do things to keep others happy or to prove them wrong, to fight tooth and nail when it would just be easier to be anything else. maybe it wasn’t a question of good and bad back then. except it always was, wasn’t it? munson has always been a black mark, the default is rotten and good for nothing. ) Maybe we don’t need other people’s approval. Only our own.
Maybe we just try to be ourselves, whatever that is, and we can’t fuck that up. ( ‘we’ like it’s a promise, like ianthe’s death doesn’t matter but maybe they do. ) I’m no saint either. I just hide all the mess I leave behind, burn it down - scorched earth.
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Is tempting. ] Same. [Her laughs is - breathless. Humourless. ] I just. What if who I am - who I really am, is just ugly? Just terrible?
[i want you exactly as you are. john does, too. and house. Danny said that. She'd brushed over it, ignored it, pretended not to hear it. Petre had - fucking Petre didn't even have to look deep to know there was something wrong with her. ]
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he’s so tired of sharks pretending to be anything they aren’t, tired of doing it himself and being lauded as authentic, true to himself. sure, not all of its lies but eddie wears versions of himself like armour.
he furrows his brows. ) I won’t judge you for the ugly parts if I can show you mine.
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So she kisses him. She slots her mouth against his for real, licks into his mouth and pushes, just a little. Pushes him down, pushes herself so far into his space that she might just fucking disappear into him. Climbs right onto his lap, slides her fingers into his hair and kisses him till she can't breathe.]
🎀
his hands slide underneath the fabric of her shirt, desperate for skin underneath his palms as if it’s just the clothes keeping them from melting into one being. he helps her pull it off when they need to breath, pushes himself up to do the same and flips them over to pin her to the bed. )
Mine. ( he mumbles into her skin, into her collarbone and into her mouth again. she’s his, rotten or not, just like he’s hers even if he’s losing himself outside of the familiar cage of her arms and the feeling of her body against his own. )