the shire is burning [eddie munson x OC]

chapter forty six

When the morning light breaks through the blinds of the window, Willow is the first to stir. Her movements are slow at first, stretching and unfurling from where she had been tightly curled into Eddie's side.

For once, there's no wild confusion as to how they ended up here. She remembers, well and clearly, how they ended up in her bed.

After their slow dancing in the kitchen, the night had carried on fairly boring. Willow had insisted they both take a shower to get the flour out of their hair, and Eddie had been in no mood to argue with her. Besides, he had joked he had flour in unsavory places , which had clearly been a lie and just a coy joke to get a laugh out of her. It had worked - she'd laughed unnecessarily hard at his suggestive tone when he'd said it. During Eddie's shower, Willow had taken to pulling the cookie dough from the fridge and arranging it neatly in small balls on a baking tray. The moment she'd placed them in the oven, Eddie had emerged from her bathroom, hair wet and a pair of borrowed sweatpants hung low on his hips.

Willow jumped when a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, only relaxing when she glanced down to see the familiar glint of Eddie's rings.

His chin rested comfortably on her shoulder as he peered at the oven she'd just closed, "Smells good."

"Give it ten minutes. And then it's really going to smell heavenly," she sighed, trying to control her reaction to his touch. Those arms, strong and tight as they clung to her, enveloping her in unbelievable warmth. Holding her together as the puzzle pieces of her mind put themselves back together effortlessly.

"You know what smells heavenly? Your goddamn shampoo," his voice was deadly serious as he says this, pulling a laugh from Willow, "I'm serious. Where did you get that shit?"

"Bradley's. You know, the store in town where you buy things. You should visit it sometime, get some of your own shampoo," she teased easily. She caved into her body's reaction in the slightest as she let her hands settle over his resting on the top of her stomach. Her head tilted and pressed into Eddie's, careful in its weight.

He gasped. "Sweetheart, are you insinuating I don't shower?"

"I'm surprised you know the word 'shower'."

"I can't believe you're so mean to me. Sam Cooke would not approve."

"I'm pretty sure Sam Cooke is dead," she snorted, finally turning in his arms and pressing her hands into his shoulders to create enough space between them that she could look up clearly into his eyes.

He let her. He was putty in her hands, completely pliable as he let the loop of his arms fall to her hips and smiled brightly down at her. "Wanna bet on it?"

"No," she immediately responded, and it made him laugh softly.

"What? Scared you'll lose to me?"

"Absolutely not," she lied, "Just... that's a bit morbid, isn't it? Betting on someone's likelihood of being alive?"

"I've gambled on more morbid ordeals."

She smacked his chest gently, right in the center. She finally took in the fact that he wasn't wearing a shirt, bare skin still a bit damp from his shower. Her fingers fall limp from the smack, working on their own accord as she finds them dancing across the tattoo of a black widow on his left pec.

He stared at her, watching the way her eyes traced the linework carefully, seemingly mesmerized.

"You know, I'm glad I came over. Earlier was almost perfect," he spoke suddenly, placing clear emphasis on 'almost'.