#wwots

Bittersweet dreams fizzled in his stirring mind, snuffed by consciousness, cruelly pinched between the fingers of reality to remind him that yes, it was a dream; no, it did not happen. Blurred vision wavered and butterfly eyelids billowed madly to clear his sight, memory pulling blanks as he tried to remember the events of the previous night.

She was there and his breath caught in his chest, staling and stagnating there in the manner of water left to rest as remembrance spiraled and swooped and circled down in on him to make him remember, to take his air, to steal everything he thought he'd been.

"Stop."

Shapely lips formed the words and it took him a moment to realize that the mouth moving had been his own. He crafted the dialogue once more but this time in silence, the briefest spans of relief caressing him as he spied that his whisper had not woken the radiant creature of warmth before him.

The dawn cascaded upon her with unmatched and seemingly maternal tenderness, caressing the sloped planes of her lightly-blemished features, casting a vibrant glow upon its lost child as if it questioned having ever allowed for her to wander from its gaze. Tousled hair spun of dark chocolate silk framed her pale features with an unrivaled stark contrast. His fingers twitched lightly as he longed to reach out to brush her features as the sun did.

He was afraid, however, that a single touch would cause the illusion to shatter. Because nobody--not even himself--ever needed to pinch him to let him know that he wasn't dreaming. Life had a funny way of doing that for him every opportunity he got. A pinch here, a pinch there, just enough to never break the skin and only ever enough to jolt him back into what truly existed.

Cerulean gaze trailed down the line of her curves as he made an attempt to remember how he had gotten here with the love of his life here under his sheets beside him. The last he checked, she hadn't been aware of his existence. Had he really downed that many shots last night? His pupils paused at the width of her waist and how its line fell even with her hips. His mind wandered. Had they really...? And if they did, had he taken the opportunity to kiss her there at her stomach and side and draw wet stripes across the stretch marks that she'd been rumored to have? Had he told her that she was beautiful to him because of those billowing white lines while others mercilessly cast her out for them?

Ivory teeth kneaded his lower lip nervously and his fingers quivered again. This time, he drew them into a fist.

She woke.

Their gazes locked and here was something electric between them, vibrating and tangible, thrumming with a force so primal and passionate that he felt his chest tighten with... something. Anxiety? Arousal? Love? He couldn't tell but he suddenly needed her to close her eyes again and go back to sleep because he could see her lips parting for her to speak, for her to tell him that he was dreaming, for her to leave and never look back...

"Your eyes... are an ocean," she recited dutifully, a smile pulling the corner of one lip upwards and it was as if that corner cast the puppeteer strings that manipulated his heart. He felt something inside of him wrench wonderfully at her voice, at her smirk, at everything about her. She was here. And she was his. And he could not bring himself to speak. He was certain that any interaction, even one, would bring the pinch.

They stared at each other for the longest of times and he hardly breathed. And then, slowly but surely, his hand raised and he brought his digits forth towards her chin. He shifted forwards and he kissed her deeply, caressing the line of her jaw.