A/N: This is not my story I got it from FanFiction.com all credit to Pinkie the mouse. Enjoy
White noise. And the scent...of butter. Butter and cinnamon. And something else, some undefinable but irresistible female scent that was so...so Wendy.
Dipper woke up and opened his tired eyes. He instantly knew where he was: he had fallen asleep on Wendy's bed again, her TV static making it obvious that the old VHS tape player had ended the movie long ago. How long ago? He wondered. He looked to the side for the digital alarm clock, but his view was blocked...by her.
She had fallen asleep too, on her tummy, head turned to the side, facing him. Right next to him. Then he realized how close she was, he could feel her warmth. Her gentle, sleeping breathing slight and slow. Her breath smelled of butter. He looked closely at her face as the TV's static light beamed upon her.
Her eyelashes. He couldn't stop staring at them. Delicate girlish lashes that were almost hypnotic. Then he looked down at her lips, parted in a cute pout that invited a kiss. Freckles. Freckles that gave her smooth but exciting skin a certain texture that made him want to glide his hand over her, to feel her smoothness and warmth. And surrounding and framing it all, her beautiful swirling hair, a vortex of incandescent fire that warned of her power and strength. Wendy was tough, and had even saved him before, but now as she slept she was so feminine, so vulnerable and angelic in her dreaming state.
Slowly, carefully he raised himself onto his elbow to glance at the clock, but his movement somehow jostled her, and she moaned softly, almost a whimper. She stirred and then rolled away from him onto her back, and as she did so he saw her bosom softly sway underneath her plaid shirt and settle as gravity rearranged her chest. Oh yeah, last night she took off her bra and threw it at the other end of the bed.
Dipper could feel that feeling, that exciting male heat that sped up his heartbeat and raised his blood pressure to almost publicly obvious levels. He took a deep breath and then turned away from her, to slowly swivel off her bed and to stand up. Then he turned around one last time to look at her before leaving.
Now her face was towards the ceiling, eyelashes still mesmerizing, lips still pouting, freckles still...freckling, but now...now her chest was slowly rising and falling as she slept. He stared. And stared.
I should leave. Time to go. But his legs wouldn't move. Nor his eyes.
OK Dip, now you are getting creepy. LEAVE.
OK, but first shut off the TV.
He walked to the foot of her bed and with a sharp CLICK turned it off.
"Dipper?" It was little more than a whisper, enough to hear the question in her voice. Then he felt her tug at his vest.
He turned around. His eyes were still used to the bright TV static light, and could not see her in the darkness. But from the sound of her movement and her voice he knew her head was slightly lifted, eyes probably blinking but more adjusted to the dark than he. He whispered back.
"Good night Wendy. Sorry I dozed off."
"S'ok. C'mere." He felt her tugging his vest again, then his shirt. She's pulling me down.
"G'night Dipper." And she kissed him. On the lips. A brief but soft kiss. Then she giggled.
"Oh, sorry, thought it was your cheek. G'night." And then he could hear her head plop back down on the bed.
"Good...good night Wendy." His voice cracked. He stood up. He stood up tall, smiling. His heart was pounding, a braying parade, an orchestra playing Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture.
He lowered his voice. "See you tomorrow." And he slowly walked to the bedroom door.
Then he stopped and looked back, and lowering his voice back down again, he whispered:
"Baby."
