"Please don't leave," he whispers against your skin, barely a whisper. "Please stay."

You don't answer except to press another kiss to his neck, and he gasps into your ear, grabbing your shoulders tightly as if that will keep you from leaving. You make no attempt to move, and ghost your lips up his neck and jaw until you find his mouth. He moans into your lips and you sweep your tongue inside his mouth, smiling when he moans. His entire body is relaxing, shaking off the tension and stress built up since you last saw him, and his hands leave your shoulders to card through your hair, stroke down your back. When he breaks the kiss he smiles up at you, eyes bright and happy, and you lean down and kiss him again because you can't stand to look at that expression when you know what you are going to do to him.

Hours later, after he has fallen to pieces around you and under you and moaned your name while arching under your touch, he is pressed against you, clinging to you even in sleep. You smile gently when he ducks his head under your jaw, wrapping his arms even tighter around your waist. You wonder, not for the first time, what he dreams of after you make love. Somewhere happier than here, maybe, somewhere that you never have leave each other's sides. But no, you remind yourself. That is what you dream of, when you can no longer fight the compulsion to rest. You will not be sleeping tonight. You can't, because if you fell asleep in his arms tonight you would stay there forever. You would card your fingers through his hair and kiss every freckle on his body and whisper the words you've never allowed yourself to say to him. What he said tonight nearly convinced you to forget all of your duties, to stay wrapped up in his embrace until the stars burn themselves out and no one remembers either of you ever existed. The desire to stay with him surprises you in its intensity, flaring in your chest every time he looks at you, every time he takes your hand and blushes, every time he kisses you like you are something precious. And it is this desire more than anything else that makes you sure you must go.

Please don't leave. He had whispered, words he thought a thousand times but never said out loud before tonight. Please stay. The "with me" at the end of the sentence was left unsaid, but you heard it none the less. You know that he feels the same desire you do, the same need to be close, the same unquestioning devotion. The look in his eyes when he touches you says it louder than words ever could. So tonight, like every night before, you slowly disentangle yourself from him, careful not to wake him. He stirs slightly and reaches a hand across the empty space you just occupied, reaching for you. You take the hand in both of your own and press a kiss to each knuckle, each scar marring the skin, each freckle within reach. He smiles in his sleep, breathing settling back into its gentle rhythm. You release his hand, letting him curl it up against his chest. You get off the bed, and walk toward the door, careful to avoid the creakier floorboards, afraid to make any noise. You know that if he was ever to wake up before you left, you would climb back under the sheets with him, wrap him up in your arms, hold him to your chest, and never let go. But he doesn't wake up, and you reach the doorway without incident. You stop with your hand on the doorknob, but you don't look back at him. You have before, but you can't now. You are closer to staying tonight than you ever have been before, so you don't look back. You open the door and slip out of his bedroom without a sound, and if he stirs when the door clicks shut, you'll never know.