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Her eyes twitched beneath their lids restlessly, her body jerking itself out of the comforting grip of sleep.
Tightly the arms squeezed at her waist, tugging her body closer to the furnace like warmth it brought. She was suffocated—trapped under sheets and blankets and the limbs of whatever evil thing had come to get her whilst she dreamed.
With an electric-like jolt she sprouted up in bed, covers falling to her lap as her chest heaved in uneven breaths. She gazed around the room, emerald eyes taking in the overwhelming sense of being awake.
The curtains were half closed, allowing a glimpse of yellow sun into the room. Neatly folded, her clothes sat in her closet that sat ajar. Near the bed were a pair of brown leather boots—the clock over the door read 9:55. Her head snapped back over to the boots.
They were definitely familiar, but…not hers.
“Mm? Bad dream—?” Elphaba flinched immediately at the tired grunt that left the form wrapped around her, knuckles curling into an instinctual fist. She moved to sock whoever was next to her but was met with the Winkie prince.
His sleepy eyes widened only a bit at the sight: she was in her white nightgown. The one that draped over her green skin in a goddess like way. Her ebony hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back with the beautiful slopes of her shoulders. Her tight angry fist was coiled up—bound to spring if not stopped.
Fiyero gently wrapped his hand around her balled up one, thumb rubbing over her knuckles as he pressed a kiss to them. Only then could she relax.
She still wasn’t used to waking up with another person in her bed. The only instances she could think back to were the nights when the Emerald City parades would come through town and rattle young Nessa. Though young herself, Elphaba would always give her nights to cuddling up with her sister and telling her of the wonders of Oz, how to see the beauty in the noise.
This was not that though. Nothing of the sort at all. This was a man. A man that had a severe case of bed-head as he blinked lazily up at her.
The prince gave a soft huff of a laugh at his green lover’s sour expression. Leisurely, his body shifted closer to hers beneath the sheets. His hand skimmed over her upper back, fingers brushing against the space between her shoulders where the gown didn’t reach. Goosebumps prickled at her skin as she felt a kiss pressed onto her shoulder followed by his chin propped on top of it.
Still laying on his side as his half lidded eyes peered up at her through messy hair, he spoke again. His voice was deeper now, still laced with a hint of sleep. “Are you alright?”
Elphaba relaxed slightly as she fully came back to reality. She nodded a bit, just barely relaxing beneath his touch. His fingers continued to rub in soft, circular motions along her spine. He could feel the tension in her body, but he knew she’d relax if he just gave it a moment.
His other hand lingered on her hip now, pushed up beneath her night gown. His thumb traced idle shapes against her skin—a comforting little distraction. Fiyero’s voice was still lower, quieter, in a way that was reserved for only Elphaba’s ears to ever hear. “Bad dream?” He repeated once again, a tad more serious.
“Just…felt someone beside me.” An understatement. She had been woken to the thought of being strangled by a mysterious figure.
Even with the way he was looking at her, blue eyes filled with a wanting to understand…it was hard to be completely open about all insecurities and worries.
His fingers stopped their movement, now just firmly splayed over her back. His touch had become more grounded, protective almost as the hand on her hip gave a reassuring squeeze. “It’s just me, sweetheart. No one else is here.” He studied her slowly easing expression.
“I’m not used to it is all…” Elphaba finally laid back down, face towards the ceiling. “Waking up to you here.” She paused, glancing at him. “It’s not unwelcome.” She added.
The corner of his lips curled into a smile at her comment. The hand that was once on her hip drifted up to sweep her hair out of her face, tucking the loose locks behind her ear. Quietly, a hum left the Winkie prince as he shifted closer—partly on top of her now. One of his legs slid between hers under the sheets. “You’ll get used to it.” He murmured, watched as she turned her gaze back to the ceiling.
“I don’t know. I feel like I’m on the brink of waking up from some wonderful dream.” She spoke slowly, green eyes finally meeting his again.
“Mh, sometimes I feel the same.” He cupped her face, thumb stroking her cheek. “But then I feel your skin on mine, smell the scent of you. The feelings that come with that can’t be relative to dreaming.” He watched the way his words brought a smile to her face, even if it was a small one.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and spooned her from behind. “But just in case, should I pinch you?” He pressed a small trail of kisses up the column of her neck.
She grinned silently, back now pressed against his chest. However, before she could answer, Fiyero backpedaled. “I’d prefer not to pinch you though, those hurt. I could tickle you instead—“ He felt an immediate squeeze at his arm, a playful warning from his lover to most definitely not tickle her.
Then a whisper. “You could kiss me.” She paused, as if anticipating rejection. Fiyero sat up a little behind her, head peeking over her shoulder with a smirk. “I’d enjoy that a lot more.” He hummed, satisfied at her grin. He leaned down to press his lips upon hers in a gentle, lingering kiss.
It was dizzying how such little pecks could get their hearts thumping in their chests. “You still here?” He grinned, pressing another kiss to her cheek.
“Not a dream.” She confirmed. “Maybe even better than one.” Her voice was benevolent, filled to the brim with soft affection. Fiyero couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth at the fondness in her voice, his smirk softening into a tender smile. The soft affection in her tone was like sweet nectar to his ears, feeding his own growing feelings for her. (If his feelings could even grow stronger than the intensity they already were).
His fingers continued their delicate ministrations, tracing idle patterns now across the sensitive skin of her neck as he echoed, “Better than a dream," His voice low and warm like firelight. "Guess that means I'm stuck with you." He kissed her temple—slow, sweet—then whispered against her skin: "Lucky me."