Alternate Realities

Marecal, Sleepy Cuddles

God, he is heavy. And when he's asleep, there's little I can do but measure my breath and wait. I suppose, I could wake him. I could curl his hair around his ear. The way his face lays on my stomach puts his ear at the most tempting of places.

Or, I could drag my fingernails down the stubble on his cheek. Felling the little prickly hairs bending and hearing the soft sound of friction. But then, he'd likely move his face and scrape those same prickly hairs into me. Then it would be a much ruder awakening when I squirmed.

If I could just slide my right leg a little out from under him, I could get blood back into my toes. The hurdle of his thigh seems too great to overcome without, again, those prickly face-hairs scratching me.

But my toes were swiftly becoming a problem. I had not felt them in an hour. The fuzzy idea of them had cooled and they began to ache. Action had to be taken.

Using just the fingertip of my right hand, I circled a soft ringlet of his dark hair away from his face and behind the cartilage of his right ear. I braced. He smushed his cheek into me and I did squirm under the uncomfortable tickle of sand-paper skin. Then he settled. I wiggled. He seemed to actually gain mass as the pressure only seemed to increase. My foot still could not breath.

Something more drastic.

As much as I dislike the coarse rub against my stomach, I do enjoy the feeling of stubble against my nails. I run my fingers down his cheek with the grain hearing the soft sound of bristles. And then run them back up catching each hair under my nail and letting the tinny sound of whiskers play.

Cal's body shifts as he turns his head to face to my right, his left cheek read with warmth. He murmurs something and his arms press in on my sides making me a pillow clutched into position.

It's enough to start the pins and needles. The electric spasms of awakening muscles and confused nerves forces involuntary twitches all the way up to my hip. Cal groans and pushes on me harder, sterner, holding me still as he struggled to stay asleep.

I try to bare it. I hold still as best I can, but the sensations drive me made, drive me wild with movement. And the tables are turning as I yank from under him and stretch. His concern dies after one assurance that I'm okay.

Cal's hands slide up over his head and then behind it, tucking down under the pillows and arching his back. His eyes flick open occasionally to track me hobbling around the room. And then he's rhythmically breathing, again, and I'm chilled to the bone on the ceramic tile.

Crawling along him, I lay my cheek to his chest and pull the sheet loosely over us. It's all I'll need with him burning hot beneath me. And in the morning, we won't need even that.