this time I’m torn, please wake me if I lose that face
search in these eyes: there’s still fire in the darkness
Those sexy lips curved up again and she chuckled softly as he rubbed his cheek against her. He was being stupidly adorable in this hazy sleepiness. It was all so foreign to her but it felt good and so she held onto it as long as she could.
"Those are my memories. My dreams. Not yours."
He must have been teasing now and she scoffed, sweeping aside another stand of his hair as his beautiful eye opened to peer up at her. "Did you have it too? Strange that." He still wasn't completely lucid, still drowsy and slurry and husky. It had absolutely been her dream and he was confused or teasing. What else could it have been? So that must have been it.
"I did promise you that, didn't I?" A helpless little smile of amusement twisted her mouth as he continued. "I still plan on it." That raised her brows, her lips quirked.
"Oh, do you?" He wasn't just teasing now, though it was still hard for her to wrap her head around him having any interest in her. As friends then, perhaps. She smiled and hummed, allowing herself to fall into this fantasy where she could hold him and he could seem so tamed for a time, or as tame as Woolf was able to. Docile was not one she'd ever imagine he was capable of. There was always a thread of danger and power underlying anywhere he went, anything he did.
He sighed heavily after she'd commented on how awful dreaming was, filling her with stupid hope and then crushing it the moment she woke. And he admitted he'd wanted to dream of her. Which was crazy. She couldn't help but grin down at him, his tongue so loose in this moment. It was amusing and terribly pleasing. He only added to it when he told her she was the only one he'd ever wanted to dream of. She laughed through a blush, eyes dancing. "Woolf, I think you're flirting now!" she exclaimed in dramatic shock, not at all about to believe it.
Then it was her time to sigh as his skin began to glow with a pulsing light. He was at it again. He was impossible. I'm warm enough, she nearly scolded him, but the words never made it to her lips with the press of emotion he slipped into her. She caught her breath and tucked her head down, pushing the bridge of her nose against him as she sorted through the sensations blended with the memories. And that last one was even better, her favorite, hit her stronger than the others. That he could care enough, want her enough to feel jealousy.
"Woolf," she sighed softly as he pulled the magic back, nuzzling her delicate brown face into his neck, savoring the warmth of his frosted mulberry. He was so impossible. All of this was so damn impossible. "What the hell am I going to do with you?" she asked herself aloud, leaving a tentative feather-light kiss on his skin. She sighed again and curled into him, falling quiet so he could rest.
