"You're beautiful," he slurs as he kisses her again, his thin fingers curling in her strawberry blonde hair. "So beautiful."
She gasps into the kiss, almost like she's surprised. Honestly, Teddy finds it cute. He loves it, even if he doesn't love her.
They crash together onto the bed, tangling beneath sheets. His blood his hot. He needs her, wants her. She means nothing, but Teddy can pretend for one night.
OoOoO
His head throbs as his eyes open. Sunlight spills in through the cracks in the curtains, stinging his eyes. Turning his head, he sees strawberry blonde waves and delicate, bare shoulders, and he smiles.
"Good morning, my l-"
The sentence dies as realization sets in. It isn't Victoire beside him as it always is. Dominique sleeps on, innocent and oblivious, a small smile on her lips.
Shame, white hot and burning, turns his stomach acidic.
Drunk. He was drunk. She was there, so lovely and convenient, whispering that she's dreamt of this for years.
He tries to excuse it, to justify it, but the attempts seem so feeble and paper thin. The shame grows hotter, his heart sinking into his stomach.
Beside him, Dominique stirs, her arms wrapping around her pillow. "Teddy," she murmurs, still lost in sleep.
"Shit."
Carefully and quietly, he climbs out of bed, hoping not to wake her. Teddy pulls on his clothes quickly and bolts, hoping that she'll think it's all just a dream.