𝗱𝗮𝗲𝗿𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘆𝗲𝗻

in short: both

He has two extremes. He is either the little spoon, seeking protection and comfort against your breasts, or he is the big spoon, no less in need of your warmth. Daeron never tries to hide his need for you, the most comfortable place for him to sleep. Yes, stroke his hair while he buries his face in your breasts like a little puppy. His breathing is steady, but he does not for a second think that he needs more air. The scent of your chemise imprints itself onto his consciousness. His hands wrap around your waist like tight rings, and Daeron will only loosen his grip when sleep overtakes him. He sleeps in fragments. He feels bad about waking you up, usually his patience lasts until morning. But sometimes he tells you about his dreams in the middle of the dark night. His whisper caresses the back of your neck. Daeron's voice falters as he kisses the back of your neck. Your hands are clasped together on your stomach.

𝗮𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘆𝗲𝗻

in short: looks like the big spoon, secretly wants to be the little spoon

Ostensibly he is the big spoon, but he secretly longs to be the little spoon. He wants you to stroke his back and his side while he kisses your other free hand, each finger, unhurriedly. Aerion has a longing for true intimacy, a time when he can be truly tired, not asking, no, not demanding anything in return, but receiving gentle affection simply as a "good night." Most often it turns out quite differently. You are turned with your back to him. This is Aerion. He always does and says foolish things, without even thinking. His fingers rest on your lower back. He does not let you go and eloquently states this with that gesture. He will wait until you quiet down or fall asleep, and only then will he carefully close the distance of about one pillow. Aerion's hands are like a grapevine, everywhere and nowhere at once. He does not sleep. He is thinking about what he wants to say to you, something warmer than "sleep" said in a commanding tone that brooks no argument.

𝗯𝗮𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘆𝗲𝗻

in short: warm big spoon

The two of you always sleep embraced, and he is your victim. You simply throw your leg over him, locking him in a cage of an embrace. Baelor does not complain, does not laugh, but he also cannot resist commenting that you are a little possessive in your bed, all while not removing his hands from your waist. His hand has a habit of finding its way under your chemise in the most mischievous manner. His eyelids are closed, and the prince's fingers are already counting your ribs mentally, or whatever he is trying to do as he strokes the skin beneath your breast. Your head is usually on his chest, not on the pillow. You feel slightly embarrassed, knowing that he is studying the features of your face in the silver light of the moon. He does not take your requests to stop seriously. Instead, he notes your trembling lashes, like tiny petals, and kisses them, trying to kiss each one if such a thing is possible. These kisses, tender and slightly playful, trace a path around your closed eyes. Baelor then pulls you closer to his body, his little spoon.

𝗹𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗲𝗹 𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗼𝗻

in short: needy aggressive big spoon

Always a needy, aggressive big spoon. He is the one who will scoop you up and press your back against his chest. Lyonel will ask if you are comfortable only for the sake of politeness, which he rarely follows anyway. And of course, it is worth remembering that his favorite place is your breasts, and he loves to warm his hands there. You know he is simply shameless. Sometimes your neck aches from how often you turn your head for yet another kiss. You have a habit of saying goodnight to each other how many times? Ten? "Sleep, fall asleep, my dear." He whispers it through a kiss that he presses to your shoulder. He has pulled your chemise down a couple of inches. He will never tire of cursing that piece of clothing. Lyonel genuinely hates that thing completely. Can you fall asleep when he cannot stop? His hot lips leave equally hot traces from the corner of your jaw to the neckline of your chemise. Sometimes he stubbornly continues his path much lower.

𝗱𝘂𝗻𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗹

in short: awkward big spoon

The answer here is quite obvious. It is difficult for Duncan to be the little spoon, although that does happen between you. Next to him, anyone would appear tiny. His hands are large, but they know how to embrace with tender care. He does not always know where to put them. His face takes on such a funny, puzzled expression that you end up guiding his hands where you think they should go. Strangely enough, Duncan does not take up much space. He usually kindly leaves all the room for you, allowing you to sprawl out like a starfish if you wish. If you accidentally hit him in your sleep, he will take that secret to his grave. He will assure you that you sleep like an angel, and you will pretend not to know that he watches you while you are sleepy. You noticed this a long time ago, pretending to be asleep. Duncan runs his hand through the air near your cheek and the curve of your brow. He smiles so sweetly, so genuinely. Once, you promised yourself that you would open your eyes, and without saying a word, you would kiss him as if you intended to steal the air from his lungs. Instead of "I love you" and instead of "good morning."

𝗺𝗮𝗲𝗸𝗮𝗿 𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘆𝗲𝗻

in short: neither, but the blanket forces him close

Is he the big spoon? Is he the little spoon? It's hard to say, considering that you don't fall asleep embracing but rather keep a comfortable distance. Yet even that is absurd. You have one blanket for the two of you. It happened on its own, and neither of you wanted to solve the problem of the missing second blanket. It is precisely this that forces you to move toward each other like two pieces of a magnet. Maekar slowly migrates to your side of the bed. He will not say a single word, but silently and gently he will shift your head onto his shoulder. He will pull the blanket up, covering you more tightly, and kiss your temple, hoping that you are asleep. It is foolish, but he is afraid that you will laugh. He likes listening to your heartbeat as it keeps a slow rhythm. This melody is dearer to him than anything in the world. Maekar pretends to be asleep with great skill, but he himself sleeps poorly. There are too many loud thoughts. Feeling the warmth of another body feels like a panacea. It is worth waking up for, only to fall back asleep with you by his side. But tomorrow he will rise as early as usual. He is afraid of going soft. Yet then why does he kiss your forehead one last time before leaving your chambers?