When morning did come, my smile widened even further. Through the grogginess clouding the edges of my vision, I took in the beautiful sight of his silvery blonde hair. Careful not to jar him, I turned Souichi in my hold so he faced me. He looked so cute when he slept. He had youthful features anyway, but now he looked so much younger than twenty-five. Was this what he looked like when he was eighteen? His story last night had me intrigued. He probably didn't look too different, but seven years was a substantial amount of time. Obviously his hair would've been shorter; he'd started growing it out after he'd escaped. How did it look short? Was it just how it looked tied back without the tie? Ugh, so many questions that I couldn't answer!
Well, I could answer that question. All I needed was a pair of shears. But I could never cut his hair off! Never! It'd be like cutting one of his arms off! Er, well, maybe it wouldn't be that severe of a loss to him. But it would be to me! His hair was beautiful! It was as if angels had woven strands of silk and sewn them right into his head. That had to be the reason; there was no other way his hair could be so soft! Unless...no, he was too vulgar to be a nymph. But he had the features of one. Slender body, milky skin, bright eyes—maybe in a different life he was a nymph…
I rested my forehead against his and sighed. He was adorable, asleep or awake. He'd never admit it, of course; if I told him that he was adorable, he'd blush and stammer about how I was speaking nonsense. But it wasn't nonsense. It was the truth. Especially if he gave me such an innocent look. I loved him for that cuteness; I loved him for a lot of things.
I kissed his lips with a sweet tenderness. I'd missed being able to touch him and love him like this. I hadn't done this very often when I was his captive; at least, not as much as I would've liked. He probably thought it was more than enough; too much, even. But me...I could stay here all day, holding him close and admiring how pretty he was. I would've, too, if he wouldn't have yelled at and assaulted me. Then again, there were drugs that I could use to keep him groggy and vulnerable—but that wouldn't be fair. Though he would look even more adorable if he was drowsy...
I realized that I hadn't released his mouth from my own, and while I had full intention to, I didn't pull back. I couldn't. Not whenever my forbidden fruit lay right before me, ripe for the picking. And he wasn't fighting! There was no way I could resist that!
So not only did I keep kissing him, I deepened the kiss. Tilting my head to the side, I slipped my tongue into his mouth. This wasn't my first time around a mouth, his or otherwise. But exploration had always delighted me, especially when the place I explored felt so good...
Shifting my position so I lay atop him, I wrapped my arms around his neck and swirled my tongue around his. I groaned into his mouth, and after a bit of listening, I found that he'd joined me. Instantly I ripped my mouth off of his and froze. Had he woken up? My bruises probably looked terrible; they felt awful. Was I going to gain another one?
He shifted a little under me, but he didn't stir. I let out a silent sigh of relief. He wasn't awake.
I didn't resume kissing him, however. Not at first, anyway. Instead I just stared down at him. I'd heard since I was young that people moved and talked in their sleep due to their dreams. Was Souichi dreaming? If so, what about? Freedom? Drinking? The woods?
Me?
No, he probably wasn't dreaming about me. If he was, it wasn't in a good way. Not the way I dreamed about him. We always held each other in my dreams, whether on a balcony beneath twinkling stars or on a bearskin rug before a roaring fire. He'd have his head resting in the crook of my neck, smiling softly as I ran my fingers through his hair. I loved him, and in my dreams, he loved me back. He'd murmur those words into my ear, and with tingles in my heart I'd murmur the same.
With a sigh I kissed him again, though softer and shallower than last time. My desire for his body had given way to a desire for his heart, and when I kissed him the third time, it was the last time. After that, I rested my head on his chest and closed my eyes. The sun was just barely peeking into the windows; we didn't need to wake up yet. Not whenever the morning was already so perfect.
"I love you," I murmured into his skin.
He mumbled something in his sleep, and though I couldn't make out what he'd said, I imagined that he'd said the same.
