A/N: Yet another tumblr prompt.
It was a guilty pleasure, one he couldn't get enough of. Sometimes, they would fall asleep curled up on the couch together, her head tucked snugly, warmly beneath his chin. And when they did, when he outlasted her or woke before her, it would happen.
It wasn't exactly that he did it consciously, at least not at first, but after a few times of waking to a face full of hair and her scent, her delicious, indescribable, overpowering scent, he had begun to seek it because maybe he couldn't touch her exactly as he wished to, but if friendly cuddle sessions on the couch were the best he was ever going to get, well hell, he'd be a fool not to make the most of them, right? And her smell—death damnit, her smell, permeating from her scalp amidst the scent of herbal shampoo, that part that was just her, clean and a little musky, he couldn't get enough of it. He wanted to wrap himself in her smell, wrap himself in her, and never come out again.
So, as the movie wore on and her breathing became deep and even against his chest, he tightened his arms around her, leaned down to place his nose in her silky, silky hair, and sniffed deeply, basking in all that was her as he had done countless times before.
"Mmm Soul?" she said sleepily, and he froze, petrified becauseoh fuck he thought she was asleep. "Whatcha—doin'?"
"Uhhhhhh…" he shifted slightly, leaned his cheek against her crown. "Nah much. Jus' fallin' asleep."
"Mmm hmmm," she said with a yawn. "But—uh—" she suddenly slipped back and he was forced to sit straighter. She blinked up at him, eyes bleary. "Coulda sworn you, uh, sniffed my hair?"
"Nooooo…" he denied instantly. She just continued to blink up at him. "I mean, maybe, you have a strong smell, you know? Was checkin' for your benefit. Think you need a shower."
"Jerk!" she said as she bolted up off of him, her paperback slamming down on his head halfheartedly, too weary to put any force behind it, before she stumbled off to her room.
Still full of his now irate meister's scent, he stumbled off to his own room, wishing for the hundredth or maybe thousandth time that he could spend the night basking in it instead of in his cold bed, alone, with nothing to keep him company but a bottle of lotion. a box of tissues, and the memories of her warmth and her smell.