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The increasingly loud ringing cuts through the hazy remains of the web of dreams he’s lost in. Someone is talking, and there is this feeling of it being important. Then it all fades along with every memory of the shreds. Leaving the only sound that is real. That awful ringing.
He takes an unnecessary breath, having to make a conscious effort not to just sigh in exasperation. He doesn’t open his eyesockets, nor makes any move, still attempting to cling onto the last of the messy line of dreams. It’s not that the noise was annoying, he barely even caught it to be honest. Just a momentary distraction, enough to interrupt his dreams. They weren’t that great anyway.
The morning air is chilly, uncomfortable enough on his face to prompt him to groggily shift under the blankets, ready to press his face back against your neck. Your soft and warm skin, always so nice against his bones. How you’d shiver at the cold of him, maybe make some cute noise if he’s lucky. He almost huffs in amusement at the mental image of you freezing up when he nuzzles into the soft wisps of hair on the back of your neck, just like all the previous times when he did.
Expect that’s the thing. To his dismay, it never happens.
The ringing of your phone alarm was a sound you got used to. Familiar with it way too much for your liking, so the second you caught ear of it in your sleep, your mind was already on bringing everything to a halt. You don’t complain, at least you can say you never slept through your alarm. But you could do without the jolt of panic it wakes you with.
You were quick to turn it off, though it took a few tries until your eyes focused and you managed to hit the button. You glance sleepily back at the skeleton lying in the bed, under the mess of blankets, seemingly not disturbed. You allow yourself a little sigh. That’s good news, you hoped you didn’t wake him up.
Everything else about the situation though, is utter cruelty.
You know if you spend even one more second in the warm comfort of your bed and the arms of your bedmate, you’d fall right back asleep. And you wouldn't wake up until noon. So with an incredible show of self-restraint, you gather what little energy and strength you have, and sit up. You immediately regret it, the blanket falling away from your shoulders, leaving them bare. God, it’s cold in here. That’s for the middle of spring.
So that’s why the alarm was so short. He was hoping it just turned off by itself, but when he ends up face-first in pillows instead of your neck like he was anticipating, he has to come to terms with the worse option. That’s it for staying quiet and going back to sleep. He groans into the sheets, still warm from your residual heat, faintly smelling of you. Very nice. But it is not you. The sound is deliberately drawn out to make sure you hear the exasperation and indignation in his voice. Damn, when did you even slip out from his arms? It’s one thing that he’s still half-asleep and the only thing on his mind is getting that warmth back, but you slipping away without even alerting him is another.
You don’t turn back around at the arguably nice sound he makes, only wincing. Well, seems you weren’t quick enough then.
“Sorry…” you mumble, the sound coming out more like a breath. This early in the morning, your vocal cords don’t want to cooperate either.
He turns his head a bit, finally cracking an eyesocket open. Silently, he watches you sit on the edge of the bed with your back towards him, pulling yourself together. Judging from your hands on your face and your deep breaths, you have no desire to get up either.
Everything is blurry. He brings a hand up to rub at his eyesockets, furrowing his browbones when the black sticky liquid ends up all over his fingers. At least he can see now. He blindly searches for the spare tissues you keep on the bedside table, his gaze already turned back to you. The morning sunlight peaks in through the shutters, and even a little of the vibrant light is somehow enough to lighten up the whole room. It certainly does a great job at illuminating your messy hair, the shirt that hangs off your shoulders, and your skin, making all the hickeys and bitemarks along your shoulders and neck visible. He has to grin at the sight. Wonder how long it will take for you to notice all the colourful marks littering your skin.
Right now, you are more occupied with other things. After you rubbed the sleep out from your eyes, and maybe a few tears, mourning the loss of your bed and its comfort, you stand up. Awkwardly, you shuffle over to your wardrobe, stretching out your arms above your head without a second thought. Your mind is way too hazy to notice or bother with the gaze that follows your every move.
God, it’s like you don’t even know the noises you’re making. He has to take a deep breath and move in bed to a more comfortable position. Nice noises, without a doubt. Yet they’re more just like a teasing reminder of something better, when he was the one you made those noises in response to.
“yeah, you should be sorry,” he starts, propping his skull up on one hand. “bothering with an alarm, completely ignoring the guest in your bed. very rude for a host, wouldn’t you say?”
Not that he’s complaining about the view.
You scoff, shooting an incredulous look at him over your shoulder. You’re already halfway in the wardrobe, trying to find something suitable for work.
“Oh, come on! I think I’m being a great host, considering everything. Also, you’re one to talk about proper behaviours. You are what I would describe as a problematic guest.”
You get an amused snort back from him. You pull yourself out of your clothes empty-handed, save for the shirt you picked. Where are your pants?
“problematic? i dunno, that's not how you described me yesterday…”
The word trails off into laughter when you chuck the piece of clothing closest to you at him. The action of turning is sudden, your surroundings blurring, yet not enough so that, from the corner of your vision, you don’t catch sight of the piles of clothes scattered all over the bedroom. Found your pants. Well, you’re not putting them on today. You groan, reaching back into a drawer for your other pair, arguably the worse one out of the two.
He gets the shirt that you threw at him out of his face, throwing it onto the end of the bed. It was definitely not enough to wipe the smile off his face; on the contrary, it made it worse. He follows your gaze to your clothes on the floor, having to resist chuckling at your expression. It’s not even that bad. At least your clothes are still together in one piece. Makes him wonder what your reaction would be to the opposite. Another time.
In your shuffling back to the bed, you kick a shirt bunched up on the floor, trying to aim so it slides to the pair of socks not far from it. It doesn’t look as bad when all the clothes are in one pile. Though you really ought to do laundry, if anything, he just made it necessary.
You flop down on your mattress, having half a mind to just let the momentum take you and lean back into the soft bedding. It must still be warm. And your clean clothes are so cold. And your eyelids are heavy like lead. This time, you purposely ignore the eyes locked on you, much to his amusement.
When instead of dressing up like you so obviously planned, you reach for your phone, snagging a look at the clock in hopes that you somehow managed to gain some time, the chances of him succeeding become almost certain.
“Not fair…” you groan under your breath, putting the traitorous object back onto the nightstand, like it has personally offended you.
“awww, yeah. it isn’t.”
With your back towards him, you don’t see how comfortably he’s lying in the bed you had to leave. Still half bundled up in the soft blankets, eyesockets lidded with unconcealed appreciation of the sight in front of him, an easy smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
You worry the fabric of your jeans between your fingers. It’s so hard to just start.
“I don’t wanna go to work this early. Morning shift my ass…” Somehow, you still manage to steel yourself and begin tugging the pants up on your legs. The fabric is stiff and uncomfortable compared to your usual pair, even more so compared to your blankets.
He raises a browbone in surprise. He really expected you to simply change your mind by yourself. You certainly didn’t seem eager to leave. Doesn’t matter. Maybe this is even better: he can convince you himself.
“you sound frustrated…” He couldn’t keep the smile out of his tone, even if he tried. Propping himself up enough to turn and shift closer to you, he watches for a moment, lazily raking his gaze over your form. He could probably count your vertebrae through your skin from this angle. His gaze lingers on where birthmarks adorn your skin. On his own marks he left on your shoulders peaking out from under your loose nightshirt, ones that will remain for days, constant little reminders for you. He doesn’t get far in the examination, the temptation for contact growing way too great to ignore.
You jolt and immediately freeze up when something cold gets pressed into your neck. The surface of your skin breaks out in goosebumps, and you’re unable to stop a shiver from running through you at the touch. It doesn’t take long to figure out who that cold is. The irony of how that chill somehow makes your body and face heat up, is not lost on you.
“i could help with that,” he purrs. You are as warm as he envisioned, just as soft against his face as he expected. He grins into your skin at your reactions, especially when you don’t stop his wandering hand from taking the fabric of the pants out of your hand. “you said i was such a bad guest. maybe… i could make it up to you?”
You let go of it so easily, like you’re not even paying attention. Or maybe you’re just a bit too distracted by his mouth on your neck. Whatever it is, it isn’t making your job of concentrating any easier. He is not.
You swallow, throat suddenly a bit too dry for comfort, and you can’t help but feel a little self-conscious about the no-doubt obvious reactions he’s earning from you. You turn your head and shrug your shoulders in an attempt to shake him off, gathering yourself with a deep breath. At least as much as the situation allows.
“Y-you could make it up by promising not to show up unannounced.” Your voice comes out shakier than you would have liked it to, but nothing that a not-exactly-discreet clearing of your throat can’t fix. “Or, even better, help me get to work?” Between the half hour of pure agony that is taking the bus, and the half minute of your organs freaking out from his so called ‘shortcuts’, you have a preference.
He eases up on his ministrations when you try to shrug him off. He doesn’t pull away, quite the opposite. He shifts his whole body closer to lean against your back, arms slowly encircling your waist, his chin on your shoulder. As much as he enjoys this position and the feeling of your warmth against his bare ribcage, he is a bit bummed that he cannot see your expression properly from this angle.
“i could. maaaaybe.” He makes a show of shrugging, before tightening his arms around you to draw you closer back against himself. The next words are once again mumbled into your skin, mouth resting back in the junction of your neck. “if you went to work today, that is.” His voice is an octave lower than usual, whether by conscious choice or simply from the morning, is not clear.
In your defence, you’re doing quite well, save for your weaker-than-usual voice.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“because,” he hums, watching as one of his hands absentmindedly starts to slide the jeans off your legs that you worked so hard on getting on. “you’re a little bit occupied. busy.” A kiss to your neck. “with me~.”
He’s right, you are a little occupied, your mind is, but you have no intention of skipping work for the bastard. No matter how nice his voice is in your ear.
“I can’t switch shifts, not today.” That is not exactly the reason or explanation you were looking for, but it’ll do.
“you don’t have to. just don’t go to work today.” As if that was the most obvious answer. He finds it cute how you're trying to keep yourself together and act like he is not affecting you.
“N-no. Absolutely not. Ccino would kill me.”
With scrutinising eyes, you watch as he slides the article of clothing down and off your legs, with such casualty as if you cannot see what he’s doing. Like you aren’t aware of your pants falling down to the floor. Yet, maybe the question should be, why aren’t you stopping him.
“pff- ccino won’t kill anyone,” he snorts, a happy sound followed by a quick brush of his mouth against the sensitive skin of your neck. “and i didn’t imply skipping work. why would you think i’d encourage you to such things? is that how you think of me? i’m hurt.”
Oh, of course he wasn’t suggesting that. Your brow twitches from the effort of keeping yourself from rolling your eyes.
“call in sick. happens. humans get sick all the time.”
You have to scoff at that, “We don’t get sick all the time.” One of your hands reaches for his to swat it away from your thigh it tries not so subtly to settle on. In response, he moves it up to your waist instead.
“yes you do.”
To his credit, his hand stays where it is. The fact that he reaches his fingers under your shirt as much as he can while technically not moving is another matter.
“you’re so squishy. so fragile. look at you, you’re practically shivering.” You are, but unless the ‘sickness’ has to do something with him, you are fine. “and you’re just so warm. you must have a fever, don't you?”
Warm. Your eyebrows draw together, your teeth bite your lower lip in frustration.
Maybe your blush isn’t as hard to see as you hoped for. It’s more annoying that you’re basically back to square one. Sitting on the edge of your bed, no new clothes put on, not much more awake than you were 10 minutes ago. If anything, your situation is even worse, considering the hands resting on your waist, the mouth brushing against your neck, and the firm body buzzing with anticipation pressed against your back. That’s a nice feeling, however unusual it might be. You already expected to wake up alone; it wouldn’t have surprised you to find out it was all just a vivid dream.
But now that you know it’s real…
What if you can’t feel it again?
It’s easy to chalk the weakness up to your sleep-addled mind when you turn your head towards him.
He glances up when he feels the slight shift, and meets your gaze with his. Your hair is messy, and your cheeks are dusted with that pretty red. It’s a good look for you. Yet, what he’s more interested in is that certain contentedness in your eyes, which was there yesterday, and seems to have disappeared during the night. Admittedly, that annoys him a little. The morning was supposed to still be his time.
But that little nervous look you give from the corners of your eyes fills him with a dizzying sense of victory.
You don’t know what he finds in your expression, but it is enough so that the slight tension in his own leaves, giving way to an easy smile. Only for a split second, before it turns into a grin.
You barely have time to register when one of his hands drops down to your thigh, then under your knee. And you’re moving. Your eyes widen and a surprised yelp is all that comes out of your mouth.
“Killer—!”
His body gets firmly pressed against your back, using his weight to help reach under your legs and scoop you up. Your desperate flailing proves to be futile, only earning laughter next to your ear in response.
You have been moved and flipped before you even know it, ending up back in the warm bed. Now, blinking up at the annoyingly self-satisfied skeleton hovering over you.
For the first time since you woke up, you let your eyes linger long enough on him to take him in. He is still somewhat tangled in the blankets, though it doesn’t do much to hide anything. Judging from everything, he isn’t in a hurry to cover up his white bones. You’re grateful that he at least was decent enough to sleep in his shorts. His soul is idly floating in front of his ribcage as always, giving off a faint red glow in the semi-darkness of the room. You don’t spend much time staring at it, but rather keep your eyes on his face. The black liquid you've grown accustomed to is now only visible in a few soft smudges. It’s weird to see him like this, the lines running down his face almost ingrained in your mind as a vital part of him.
“yup.” He pops the words slightly, his grin stretching wider at your reaction. “definitely sick.”
You mentally curse him and the stupid, contagious smile of his.
“sorry, cutie. think you gotta spend the day in bed. doctor’s orders and all.”
You hope he feels how much you want to strangle him at the wink he delivered that line with.
His hands that were holding you during the flip now start moving again, one coming up to rest next to your head to keep himself up with, while the other slowly trails up your side. His fingers sneak under your shirt, gently rubbing along your skin. He settles comfortably between your legs, lying down onto you. The expected weight never comes, just some light pressure that you might even believe wouldn’t be enough to keep you down. Of course, that’s not the case, you experienced it firsthand. Lightweight, but not in strength.
“… At least let me shoot a text to Ccino that I won’t be able to come in today.”
You continue when he seems to ignore your words, too busy situating himself on you like an oversized cat. “Come on… I’m already letting you get away with so much.”
“letting me? heh, you think you have any say in the matter. that’s cute.”
The glare you shoot him is missing the edge, and is just generally not very effective when you are lying in bed under him. You do attempt to shift and reach for your phone, fingertips just barely scratching the edge of the nightstand. So close, yet so far.
“ah-ah, no. whatcha doing?” And with that light-hearted tutting, fingers wrap around your wrist to pull your hand back. You don’t exactly have much choice other than to go along with the pull, but you do express your distaste by wriggling under his hold.
He knows you’re playing, or at least that you don’t mean much by the move. But damn if it doesn’t make him squint his eyesockets a little, even if he quickly dispels the thoughts popping up in his head. Instead, he uses one arm to hold you by your side, the other coming back to rest next to your head when he’s sure you won’t move your hand again.
You definitely notice the proximity, a small, flustered smile curling your lips slightly upwards, despite the annoyed and frustrated facade you’re trying to keep up.
“If I’m sick, then you probably shouldn’t be this close. Y-you could catch it, it might be infectious.”
The look on his face speaks loud and clear, an amused ‘really?’ at your attempt to find excuses. “well i certainly caught something…” he mumbles under his breath. Blood rushes to your face, much to your dismay, heating it up further when he leans closer. You don’t have anywhere to pull away.
“i wouldn’t worry ‘bout that though. there is nothing that could get infected. magic is magic, biological matter is biological matter.” You guessed that was the case by yourself way earlier. “we are different enough that it’s not a problem.”
You’d argue with the problem part. The not exactly subtle mischief in his pitch black eyesockets stops you.
“though,” he drawls out, as if just now realising something. “not that different. rest recovers health, just like it does for monsters. food recovers health, just like it does for monsters. sooooo…” You wish that grin he regards you with wouldn't send pinpricks running down your spine. “positive intent recovers health as well. like… being around people you love.”
He tilts his head slightly to the side as if curious about a question being asked, while also simultaneously looking like the cat who got the cream.
“i really should thank you for your hospitality, no? for your patience in dealing with… how did you put it… a problematic guest.
… i think kissing it better should suffice, wouldn’t you agree, bunny?”
You are quick enough to catch your head away to avoid a kiss on the mouth. Your victory is short-lived lived though. The instinctive motion leaves your neck and the side of your head open and exposed, exactly what he was looking for. You only realise that when his cold mouth is pressed into your neck.
The surprised little squeak you let out and the jolt that goes through your whole body taste like victory to him. Laughter bubbles up from your throat, filling the whole room with the lovely sound.
To hell with your noises, you are way more focused on literally everything else. Like trashing out from under him, trying to wiggle away, or to push him off. Anything. Yet all your attempts prove useless. Which is all the more infuriating when he regards your squirming and gasping with a delighted laugh against your skin. If it was just one peck, maybe you’d get over it quickly. You’re not that lucky though.
“there you are…”
He finds you adorable like this. All your pretty noises and the way you try to cut his access to your neck off. How could he resist pressing more tingly kisses all over the sensitive skin? Especially with how reactive you’re being. He trails the teasing butterfly kisses down a little as if going down for your collarbone, only to move quickly back up to your jaw, following the line of it towards your ear. Your skin is warmer and softer than any freshly baked pastry, your scent like an aphrodisiac from this close.
“you really are a sweet,” he mumbles out between presses of his mouth into your skin. The tickling feeling occasionally mixes with sharp little nips, nothing to leave a mark, but it’s enough to earn more sounds from you. “don’t you think, sugar? cutie pie~? sweetheart? …honeybun?”
From the corners of his vision, he can see the red blush creeping up to your face, warming your cheeks. A wonderful mix between frustrated and flustered. “i could go on. tell you about how you’re the most enticing piece of cake…” Sweet. Easy.
He muffles a chuckle against you at your reaction to coming in contact with the tip of his tongue. It’s salty on his tongue as he flicks it over one of the faint marks of last night, but what’s even better is when your squeak gets higher-pitched, and you uselessly try to push his skull away with your soft hands.
When the frustrated gasping of swears and his name turn to breathless laughter, he grins into your skin. The sound is the cherry on top.
“aww, that’s it. seems i did do something right if you’re already feeling better~”
With a last kiss to right under your ear, he eases up. A bit reluctant, unable to stop himself from sneaking a quick nuzzle in before he lets you catch your breath, while he goes to rest his face in the crook of your neck. The position allows him to feel your quickened pulse against the side of his skull.
There is a slight hint of embarrassment in you over the fact just how he got to you so easily. You aren’t even ticklish there. Usually. The nips and especially his tongue against you was a dirty move.
You are grateful for the little reprieve from the barrage of kisses, giving you the opportunity to calm your racing heart and get your breathing under control. He only looks up from the comfortable resting place he found when he feels you melt into the bed with a sigh.
You’re the one who breaks the comfortable silence that has settled onto you two, glancing at the skeleton resting comfortably on you. “Hi.”
You get a grin from him in response, dark eyesockets crinkling upwards.
“hi.”
In the slow and quiet moment, the only noise is your collective breathing and the sounds from the world outside. Birds chirping, an occasional frustrated driver leaning on the horn. Morning commotions, people running on about their lives before the sun even came up completely. What reaches you is only the distant and muffled sound of it all. You are selfishly glad you get to stay in your bed instead of following their example.
“You, uh- slept well?” You cringe a little at your own question. Very smooth.
He doesn’t mind, actually finding it amusing how you try to act casual about the situation, and promptly failing.
“yeah,” he groans out with a little stretch, eyesockets luckily closed so he doesn’t see the flush of red it brings to your face. “slept very well. how could i have not with such a warm and soft thing cuddling me like a plushie?”
“Fuck off…”
“hey, i don’t mind! honest.” You doubt the validity of that statement when it's delivered with such unconcealed mischief. “just a bit curious about how you could be comfortable with it. not that you complained about my body last night, but y’know.”
You decide he’s way too smug already for his own good, and don’t tell him about how you enjoyed it.
To your luck, he doesn’t push it further at the moment.
“hehe, you have something on your face there,” he points out proudly after a few seconds. Instead of his hand going to show you like you expect him to, he just ends up tangling it into your hair, lazily playing with the strands.
So you reach up to your face in confusion, and sure enough, after you rub at your cheek, you draw your hand back stained with grey smudges. You see the smile etched onto his face deepen, still having the guts to feign ignorance and innocence by shrugging.
“I have- You rubbed it into me. I must have smudges all over me…” The statement comes out as a resigned groan, there isn’t much you could do about it now. With a sigh, you run a hand over your face. You had a faint idea that there would be damages, but you weren’t aware of the extent of them. Seems you not only have to do laundry, but your sheets have to go into the wash too, and you’re gonna need a throughout shower as well.
Later. Everything at their own time.
Right now, you’re way too busy settling back into your bed comfortably, one of your hands tentatively coming up to rest on his back. You snag a quick glance at his expression, but other than the crescent-shaped eyesockets and the smirk playing at his mouth, he doesn’t seem to acknowledge your move much. Emboldened by the apparent permission, you let your fingers move a little, tracing curiously over his ribs and spine. It’s different from anything you’ve ever felt, yet still so eerily familiar that you can’t place the feeling anywhere. You explore the firm bones, taking note of the difference in texture. The little imperfections, ridges, and chips under your fingertips. You know you wouldn’t get answers this time either if you asked, so you don’t bother, even if your curiosity will never be sated.
He is amused and curious about what you’re doing. It's cute how careful you are being, worrying about his reaction, like you’re not sure if you’re allowed to do this. But why would he stop you when it feels so nice? He melts under your attention, letting his sockets close as he goes back to resting his face in the crook of your neck. His fingers on your side seem to do the same as he rubs his distals over the soft skin. Tracing slow circles into you, he relishes in the warmth under his hands.
“Sooo…” You feel a little weird about breaking the silence. You were getting awkward, and now that you woke up, your head started clearing up. Leaving that one thought to scratch insistently at the back of your mind. “This means you’re not in a hurry…?”
You yourself are not sure what that note in your voice was. Curiosity, there’s no question about that, but the slight hint of hope behind it is something you would have preferred to keep out of your words.
Right.
He takes in a breath, exhaling it against your skin his mouth is resting on. He has a job. And while you can be convinced to put yours on the back burner for a bit without any serious repercussions, it doesn’t exactly work like that for him. Usually.
Yeah, he’s starting to push the boundaries of these ‘off-days’. It will have its consequences. Especially if one of the other guys tries to gain favours by snitching. The time spent away is nothing he can’t chalk up to unforeseen complications in a few business matters, but going against one of the others would be a bit more troublesome.
Right now, with his mind still sleep-addled and his body for a change way too comfortable, he’s willing to risk it. He had already spent the night. What’s a few more hours?
“now? when i’ve just managed to convince you?”
When your face is still red from his earlier actions? When his hickeys and bitemarks cover your neck, down to your shoulders? When your skin is so warm under his phalanges, and he can feel your heartbeat?
“when I have such a pretty little thing under me?”
There it is, the rhythm picking up at the slight lowering of his tone. It’s difficult not to straight up grin into your neck.
“no, i don’t think i’m leaving anytime soon,” he continues, adjusting his position over you. “wouldn't wanna leave poor little sick you here alone, hm?”
“no…” He drawls the word out in the way he knows will get to you, absentminded as he trails his fingers down from your chest to your side. “i have a better idea. i think…”
He shifts to prop himself up, just enough to look down at your sprawled-out form under him. Your hair is all fluffy and messy, one of his hands is still tangled in it. There are dark smudges over your cheeks and a few other places on your skin as well, ones he rubbed off into you. You must have caught at least an idea of his plans, judging from the narrowing of your eyes.
“i’m gonna stay here.” For the few hours he can get. “all warm and cozy under the sheets with you.” Your body is so warm in contrast to his. “maaaaybe lounge around and sleep a little more.”
Yeah, you both know that is not what’s gonna happen from his grip on your waist.
“You’re such a menace…”
He grins proudly in response when you pull him down towards you.