Deep, deep into the furthest recesses of your sleep, a familiar scent wafted over you. It wasn’t the pleasant cookie-scent your mother used to wake you up with, nor the papery smell of the Sunday newsletter your father used to concentrate on in the mornings. It was a homely, wonderful smell which instantly made you swell with warmth and content.
The mixture contained a blend of something sickly sweet, like the sugar candies you used to chew on until your jaw was sore, as well as a hot, musky type of smell. All of that mixed with the smell of used linen sheets and the heady smell of sweat, strangely you could also detect a breath of frosty air. Drowsily, your tired eyes fluttered open – determined to name that particular scent that had lured you from your dreams.
Still sleepy, you focused on the bed sheets you were facing, reaching up mutely to stroke the spot where a freckled chest would have normally been. It took a moment for your brain to comprehend who was missing from your bed, but when you found who it was you instantly sat up. “Allistor.” You breathed in relief when you saw said male sitting in the low window seat. He’d lit up a cigarette and was simply smoking the addictive substance out of the window which he’d opened a crack. This explained the frosty air, after all it was still freezing in the mornings. A dull blush heated your cheeks when you noticed he was clad solely in a pair of plaid boxers – a belated present of yours at Christmas.
As much as you disapproved of smoking, you had to admit he looked incredibly good doing it. His dark red hair was ruffled in a way that said he’d just awoken, a silver chain dangling around his neck – a charm to keep away ‘the fey’. You sat up fully and leant over the side of the bed, yanking his rumpled shirt from the day before out of a pile of clothes. The rustling disturbed his momentary silent and he shot you an apologetic smile. “Didn’t want to wake you.” He muttered, rubbing his eyes and scratching his neck sheepishly. “Don’t worry about it.” You replied, buttoning up sufficiently so that you wouldn’t be completely bare, then you made your way from the bed to him, going to sit on his narrow lap.
He wrapped his arms around you, keeping you tucked under his chin and against his chest as he finished smoking in double-time, stubbing out what was left of the fag. “You know, that addiction of yours is going to get you killed sometime.” You remarked, your eyes closed so you could take in the rising of his chest and the steady thump-thump of his most vital organ. He chuckled nonchalantly, shaking his head. You could feel his stubbled jaw slide down your cheek so his emerald pupils were level with your own (e/c) ones.
“Hmmm,” he hummed, rubbing his nose over yours, his lips puckered in invitation. “Don’t try and change the subject.” You chastised him, hitting him softly on his shoulder. His expression soured and he leant back against the window, almost letting you pitch forward when he bought his legs closer to his chest. Stubborn, you clung onto him and puffed your cheeks out in annoyance. He held your gaze steadfastly for a tense pause, until he averted his face to the glass pane upon which his breath was clinging.
“I can stop whenever I want… besides s’not as bad as my other addiction.” He muttered under his breath, a pout apparent on his lips. “Your other addiction?” You echoed unbelieving, guiding his face with your hand so he couldn’t escape your prying stare. A soft throbbing colour crawled surreptitiously over his cheeks and he pulled you closer, pressing his open mouth avidly on yours.
For a prolonged second or two, you cooperated with him which he thought to be lucky – perhaps you’d drop the subject. But then you pulled away with a stern look at him. A sigh left him, of course you wouldn’t let this go. “Forget it,” he uttered softly, “I just said it on a whim, it doesn’t mean anything.” But the damage had already been done. Sheepish, he rubbed the side of his neck again until you took his hand and interlaced your fingers together. “I want to hear it Allistor.”
His protests going unheard, you fixed him with a steely stare until he finally gave up. “Fine it’s-it’s you alright?” He said with a flushed face, he couldn’t believe he was actually saying such cheesy things. But when your face lit up happily, though you tried to conceal it he thought perhaps it hadn’t been such a bad thing. “Does that make you happy lass?” He asked with a teasing tone, a half-formed smirk directed towards you.
“Of course…” you replied with a very visible blush spread across your cheeks. “Good.” He commented, shifting you in his lap. It was at that moment that he realised how badly you’d done up the buttons on his shirt you were wearing. “Goodness (Y/n), at least dress properly.” He said jokingly, already busying himself with unbuttoning and re-buttoning the shirt so it was right. You tried to concentrate on something to keep your mind from wandering to the soft brush of his coarse palms on your skin (which he did on purpose no doubt!), focusing on a ginger freckle just left of his nose.
“Oi, I’m servicing you here,” he complained, his forefingers pinching your chin and making you look him straight in the eye. “Pay up.” Your jaw dropped and you shoved him on the shoulder. “Cheeky bugger.” You muttered, his grin widening when he noticed you taking over his curses. “Oh, go on, pleeease?” he gazed at you warmly, nipping on your jaw endearingly. “Honestly…” you mumbled, pecking him firmly on the lips so he’d stop pleading.
A charming grin broke over his face, him nuzzling the crook of your exposed neck and generally, planting butterfly kisses on each part of your skin he could get to. You smiled and repressed a laugh when he tickled some sensitive spots, squirming in his arms this being something that caused him just to get hold of you even tighter. “Let go! Let me go!” You protested, wiggling your way from his arms. Needless to say, he caught you again and simply bought you back to his embrace. He never failed to bring you back for his kisses. Not once.