She slept on her side in an overlarge t-shirt; one arm stretched out across the bed, the other wrapped tightly around her chest. Her upper leg coiled around a pillow, her lower one questing behind her – trying to find the heat it so clearly desired. Her hair was tangled amongst her, the constant small shifts of her sleeping form causing the long golden strands to run amok.
Every so often she would try to nuzzle into her pillow more, but would end up disappointed with how soft and pliable it was. Swift sighs.
She yearned. She didn't know who for, but her body cried out for his presence. In the waking world, she controlled herself. She had a duty. In the dreaming world she was finally content. Her subconscious would throw the idea of duty out the window if it could.
He slept on his back in pajama pants; one arm above his head, the other rested on his stomach. His legs lay strait out from him. He was perfectly still, so not a hair of his silver locks was out of place.
Every so often he had a mad desire to move – to hold something close to his chest, to run his hand through long hair, to slip a leg in between a pair of knees – but he remained still. Deep, thought-out breaths.
He ached. He didn't know who she was but he could not stop the desire that pumped through him. His conscious was strong, however, and kept his cravings under tight security. He had a duty. Sometimes, though, his conscious broke and he saw glimpses of the dreams he desired.
They slept entangled. Arms and legs draped around each other, content in their simple touch. Their hair was wisely kept in pony tails, yet still managed to mingle with the other.
Every so often she would nuzzle into his chest. He would hold her close. He would run his hand through her hair. Perhaps a leg was in between knees. Light, even breaths.
They were satisfied. They had each other. They kept their duty. They kept their happiness.
It was different this time around.