NUT DA NUTTAH - Boreo (OLD)

Chapter 86~ clenched teeth

((I'm finally off break, I randomly got depressed about Carl Grimes and wanted to take a boreo break. It was great. Read my newest book (Leap Of Faith) if you'd like to see what I've been doing and where I've been))

One week after arrival:
Boris And I lay half sinked into the mattress. Knowing each other were fully conscious but not a word flowing between us.
I could hear his slow heavy breathing. He had been noting to me that his throat was scratchy and sore from the change in environment. The air was a lot cooler here. I had noticed his wheezy breathing and I decided that I'd go on a quick Arron later today to get him some sort of medications to treat the symptoms. I looked down at his hands, gripping at my waist. Keeping me from leaving his grip. His fingernails rimmed with dried blood and broken fingernails.
His body was basically wrapped around me. I was very comfortable. We had changed our mattress to a better one. It was a lot better and made both of us less sore in the mornings.
"Boris..." I groaned. Trying to wriggle out of his grip. He tried to keep me down, he was playful and tired. Mumbling in gibberish and cursing under his breath.
"Cmon Boris. I wanna get up!" I pleaded. Trying to push him away, Putting my hands on his chest and pushing him away. Though he had a tight grip on my shoulders. Pulling me back. "Please?" I asked. Giving him puppy dog eyes. He sighed. "I can't argue with that face..." he argued.
I turned around and looked out the window. I knew he was waiting for a response. But knowing that my eyes were coiled and tangled with miles of pink toned sky.
He put his forehead on the back of my head. Our two totally different hair tones crossing and mixing with each other. His hair on the back of my neck wool-like. Soft to the touch. Comfortable and amazing to feel. His hair the color of midnight or ravens feathers, mine like soft buttercream, caramel sweets grandma always carries in her small pouch or the rim of the sky on mornings where the dew hasn't risen from the flowers.
I had grown quiet. Boris's body basically over mine. Kissing this and that of me. My head, the back of my neck. Where ever he felt he could be as loving as possible. Every kiss love gripped me at the ankles. Digging it's claws into me. Though all it's claws were made of was foam and the feeling of excitement and pleasure. A wine glass, empty but was recently filled to the brim with water. Sat on my nightstand. Along with all sorts of junk. Keys, notes with account passwords. My pill bottles, and some melatonin. Which Boris eats like candy when I'm not around, he regrets it later and puts a heavy blame on me.
I pull my motherly instincts on him a lot as well. I've always looked up to him as a mother figure or someone I can nurture mentally. That's where I slowly developed a habit of lashing out like a mother. Boris finds it cute, mainly because I'm shorter.
I've been practically begging Boris for a dog for the past few weeks.
He said he'll think about it but he never does.
I drag my hands up and down my skirt I was wearing, it fell below my knees as I stood and was made with a heavy cloth. It was a lipstick red, like ones you'd see in the pharmacy Clarence section for 70% off. Or ones you'd catch my stepmother Xandra wearing. Though I'd never been interested in drag myself. I wear light blush here to there. But it's rare.
Boris on the other hand is literally happy to buy me dresses. Or makeup. But I'm not the makeup bob Ross so I don't use it to often.
Should I try it?