disproof | [tfln/meme overflow]

"Hmm?" Eddie's answering hum is distracted as he twists his wrist free of Richard's grip to interlace their fingers instead. Using that hold he tugs him closer, free hand coming up to rest possessively on Strand's hip. The tendrils of the swarm curl around them both in hazy mass, surrounding Strand without yet touching him. Eddie himself is entirely indifferent to its presence as he continues to smile down at his captive.

"I suppose it has. Are you feeling tired, my dear?" He peers at the face in front of him, tutting in concern at what he perceives there. "You have been so busy. I worry about you overworking yourself. Too much stress isn't good for a woman, you know."

No good. No good. No good. It’s everything he can manage not to shove at Eddie as he’s dragged in, but mice that run get hunted. He won’t make this a game.

Keep it calm, Richard reminds him, even though it’s hard to breathe. Keep it peaceful. “I am. Tired. But fine. It’s fine. I—you don’t trust women for much, do you?” His fingers twitch in Eddie’s grip, eyes snap to the encroaching swarm. “What are you worried is going to happen?”

He wants his recorder.

That gets a momentary pause, the concerned mask slipping to reveal something dark and angry and now the Walrider closes that distance, reaching out to whip against and through whatever flesh is closest in a hundred tiny pinpricks. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Eddie visibly collects himself, smiling once again as his hand slides around to press against the small of Richard's back, pulling him closer still. The dark tendrils retreat with the change and he lifts Strand's captured hand to press an adoring kiss to the back. "I'm just worried about you darling. You shouldn't tire yourself out so. Why don't you let me take care of you?"

“Eddie—Eddie, the sw—“ But it isn’t the swarm that drags him in. Strand’s jaw winds shut as he’s wound closer. Hand wills loose under Eddie’s mouth. Don’t flinch, don’t jerk, don’t make yourself a game. Think.

His free hand hooks in the crook of Eddie’s elbow, as loose (or as tense) as if they were dancing. “What did you have in mind?”

He's at a momentary loss, not having expected such an easy capitulation - he'd been readying himself for another rejection - but brightens quickly. Another kiss is pressed to Richard's inner wrist, his lips lingering against the delicate skin there, the pulse beating underneath. Finally Eddie draws back, eyes skittering over Richard's face before he comes to a decision.

"Well, if you are feeling tired, I think I should put you to bed, no?" This smile is clearly meant to be roguish and charming, for all that it falls short by several miles. "I wouldn't be a very good husband if I let you exhaust yourself, would I?"

"It's early." He corrects, just a split second before considering exactly how long it is till real nightfall, with no sunrise in sight until tomorrow afternoon. It falls behind in importance to the delusional rhetoric, to more physical contact than Strand has been subjected to for--

"Let's--why don't we just sit in the den for now." Not too forcefully, but surely nonetheless, he pushes at the arm around his waist. "I'd like to make my coffee. Do you mind getting a blanket from upstairs? The throw blankets are in the, um--in the hope chest." His mother's hope chest. "At the foot of the bed."

"So long as you don't bring any work with you," Eddie allows, his arm beginning to slide from around Richard's waist before it's back, large hand splayed over the small of his back. He presses a kiss to one cheek then removes himself with a long-suffering sigh. "Go. Make your coffee. I'll fetch a blanket so you don't get cold."

With that Eddie disappears upstairs to find the chest in question - one that he knows he remembers his wife bringing with her when they moved in together after their wedding. His movements are easy to track through the upper floor of the house as he alternates between humming and singing to himself, unerringly making his way to the master bedroom.

Richard stays frozen at the foot of the stairs for several long seconds after Eddie drifts away from him. He has to wait until the Walrider gives him room enough to move--and he's not sure where he's moving besides.

Every lizard brain instinct tells him that he should simply, calmly, get in the car and drive. But he'd be caught, of course, or if he escaped, they'd be back at square one. He should put something in Eddie's coffee, the frightened bit of his brain insists. But he promised: no drugs. Even if he wasn't going to honor the promise, they don't have anything stronger than Advil in the kitchen. So he makes his coffee, then Eddie's, and stands at the counter, hands on the rounded edge, and listens to Eddie walk and serenade a path above him.

Every way out of this leads to disaster. Richard runs his hands under cold water and reminds himself of the fact. Focus on the facts.

When Eddie comes back down, he'll find Richard already folded into the corner of the sofa, his own mug in his hands. The other sits on the low-set coffee table, next to a digital recorder.

The promised blanket tucked in his arms, Eddie makes his way to the den, coming to an abrupt halt in the doorway on arrival. He levels a glare at the recorder before turning the look on Richard. "I thought I said no work." His voice is hard, the warmth and affection of before - however false - gone. He expects to be obeyed in his own home, by his own wife and that she chose to ignore such a simple command made with her best interests in mind-

The Walrider begins to draw away from him, assembling itself in the air above, the movements of that haze seeming almost eager. Eddie himself stalks closer, fingers twisting in the material of the blanket like he's trying to wring a neck. He's still glaring, lips peeled back as he snarls. "Why? Why do none of you ever just listen?"

"...Ah." He's good at cold, even if annoyance buzzes at the top of his skull, or if fear hooks burrs into his jaw and lungs. Strand simple raises his eyebrows and stays cool. His eyes stay away from the swarm or the strained color of Eddie's knuckles around the blanket. They move from Eddie's face to the recorder, back again as he reaches for it. "I thought it was more of suggestion. I don't need this. Look--"

With his thumb, he slides the battery cover off and lets it fall to the table. Strand pinches his mug between his knees to free up both hands. The batteries come out of the recorder, along with the tiny storage card in the side. Both go in the drawer of the coffee table, and he offers the device to Eddie over the back of the couch. "--here. I don't need it."

Eddie pauses, eyes flicking between the drawer, Richard and the recorder before he snatches the proffered device. As soon as he's confirmed it's non-functional it's immediately discarded, tumbling to the floor at his feet while he steps around the couch. His smile is back in place, fingers smoothing over the wrinkled surface of the blanket before he shakes it out.

"This was a good idea," he says approvingly, wrapping one end of the blanket around Richard's shoulders. Eddie settles in the seat next to him, tucking the other end around himself and raising his arm expectantly, waiting for his wife to settle against him. He's entirely oblivious to the humanoid shape hovering above them, giving the distinct impression of something watching and hungry. "A pity we don't have a fire to make it more romantic but it's enough to be here with you."

For a damning moment, Richard just stares at him. He's never been a snuggler. Not as a child, not as a dating teen, not even during the abbreviated course of his marriage. So he stares, until the realization sets in that he's being invited, and then the weight in his stomach drops.

"This--this house used to have a fireplace." The explanation is quiet, as controlled and nearly as awkward as the way Richard scoots in. He keeps the mug in one hand, tugging the blanket under his arm with the other, and leans into Eddie's side gingerly. When he points up to the corner of the room where the ceiling is stained and coarsely plastered, he has to gesture around the dark figure in the air. "There. Before we owned the place, they removed it. But it would leak in bad weather for a long time."

He fixed it when he was a teenager. His dad wasn't around to do it. Strand sighs tightly, jaw winds closed as his eyes follow the Walrider. "Do you see this? What is it doing?"

That moment stretches, the see-saw of Eddie's mood beginning to dip in the opposite direction, his smile fading, eyes narrowing until he gets what he's after and Richard tucks in against his side. A heavy arm is immediately wrapped around his shoulders, bulldozing over any awkwardness as Eddie pulls him in with a pleased sound. His eyes follow the gesture, taking in the disfigured patch of ceiling with mild interest. A pity it was gone - he could just picture perfect winter evenings spent sitting by the fire, reading to their children-

He's pulled from that particular fantasy by Richard's voice, looking at him in puzzlement before following his gaze toward the ceiling again. There's a furrow between his brows as he frowns up at the ceiling, looking straight at and then through the dark shape there. "What is what doing, darling? I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific." He's winding tight against Richard, growing tension belying his stated obliviousness.

"Honesty," Richard murmurs, eyes turning up towards him, "needs to go both ways, Eddie."

Eddie slowly turns to meet Richard's eyes, his own flickering over the other's features. He looks away briefly, grimacing and tense. It's not right for a wife to be so demanding - she should be obedient - but. Relationships need honesty. Not lies. His father used to lie and Eddie's nothing like him.

Reluctantly, he turns back, clearly unhappy as he opens his mouth. "I- It thinks it might get to have you, darling." Like the other whores before. Another bloody sacrifice.

"I won't let that happen," he assures, holding Richard tightly against himself. Not if he doesn't make him.

Not like the others. His mouth presses flat, body yields to Eddie’s by inches—better here than there—till Eddie’s arm rests across his chest, his head back against Eddie’s shoulder to watch the swarm. The rain starts to feel like it’s just a soundtrack for the cloud.

“How do you keep it away?” No recorder, but he’s curious. The questions wander out on their own, past the sticky, phlegmy nerves in his throat. “Does it talk to you?”

Far more contented with the contact than Richard, Eddie rests his head against his wife's, soaking up the closeness. His contentment is soured somewhat by the persistent questions and he sifts irritably in place. "Why does it matter? You don't have anything to worry about so just ignore it."

He's hoping there's no danger anyway. Hoping his own will is enough to keep the Walrider from tearing Richard apart like so many others. He's never had to worry about it before, he hasn't been around others long enough to test it.... But no, he must be able to control it. Otherwise how could they have had a proper courtship and wedding? How could they have lasted long enough to make a home together?

"You should be used to it after all this time, my darling." His voice is changing again, coldness creeping in, the swarm seeming to react to it by creeping closer. "Why should it be a problem, unless you don't trust me to keep you safe?"

It comes to him honestly, slips out of his mouth while he struggles to strike a balance between stiffening with worry or indulging in his own ego and fighting. Neither fearing nor defending, Richard admits honestly, “I’m not doubting you, Eddie. I’m just trying to understand you. This is—“

A stutter as the swarm gets closer, where his arm comes up as if to shove it away. “—this is all new territory.”

Increasingly irritated with them both, Eddie scowls. His arm tightens around Richard, becoming less affectionate and more imprisoning. "How can it be new? We've been married for.... Long enough." He can't remember how long - not enough to have children yet but that can take time.

His glare switches to the Walrider, almost petulant as he declares, "She's my wife, not some whore. You can't." Instead of withdrawing like he wants it to, it almost seems to snarl at him and he squeezes Richard tighter in response.

“Eddie, I’m not—“ The arm around him squeezes the protest quiet and jostles his half-full mug. He doesn’t get to correcting that he’s not a wife, they aren’t married. Not around pushing at Eddie’s elbow, not with how his head swims at the pressure and the swarm and the precarious way his drink splashed. “Let me up. One minute, let me up.”

"What?" Eddie's attention snaps back to Richard. Surprise grants his request as Eddie's grip goes slack, arm slipping from where it was keeping hold as it's shoved away. He doesn't know what Richard hopes to do but he's sure it's going to end with him a widower one way or another.

He's relieved, certainly, when he's able to shift to the side, to himself. It's what he asked for, after all, and there's comfort in knowing that even in this state, there are ways to tell Eddie no.

But without the assurance of an arm around him, Richard's gut twists immediately with worry over something as stupid as reach to put his cup on the table. "I just need--" The words trip and tangle. Just far enough not to touch, Richard crosses his legs on the couch, sits up straight with his hands on his knees and his eyes on the swarm. "What can I do?

"It hasn't done this before, so there must be something I'm doing to provoke it. Right? So. What can I do?"

[tfln/meme overflow]

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short post but eDD orz

why you gotta be like that? just swallow his bs ok?

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