He wanted this to last him a lifetime. Every last detail of her body, her voice as she whispered to him, the small glisten of moisture that trailed down her cheek -- he wanted to engrave it into his mind. She was inches away from him, so close that he could reach out and take her small form and pull her closer still.

There was something inside of him that stopped him, telling him to look but not touch. That part of him was afraid that he would brush her skin against his own, and she would disappear; as if only a dream. Still, the other half of his heart ached to feel her against him.

Culvern was growing tired of this game. The primal need for connection was simply too much, and as she lay there in his bed next to him -- covered by nothing but the soft fleece of his comforter, fitting every curve of her body -- he shifted closer to her. His left arm snuck over the young woman's body and wrapped around her waste, as she was facing in the opposite direction in her slumber. Giving a slight tug, he gently pulled her to him, allowing him to place his lips just behind her ear.

The cool sensation of his breath on her drying skin sent a chill down her spine, and she arched herself into him. Her jawbone just below her left ear was now exposed to him, and he placed the softest of kisses where the sensitive nerve was partially covered by her hair.

She shivered, drawing a quick breath between now parted lips, allowing his name to escape; "Culvern..."

Like a prayer she whispered his name in her half-slumber. His lips curled into a soft smile against her neck, and the arm around her waist gently pulled her even further into his embrace. For the time he was satisfied with his actions and the feel of her was enough to keep him still for a few moments longer.

The moonlight that cast in slits from the blinds on the window cast over her face, illuminating her fair skin with a whispy blue light. The light sheet of sweat over her shoulder and forehead was now shining softly. He blinked, eyes half lidded as he placed his nose in her hair and whispered to her.

"Arella," he spoke softly, his voice trailing off along with his thoughts. For once, words didn't come easily. Whether or not she could hear him, he didn't know, but he felt the need to say something. Thoughts coursed through him, and he felt as if they would burst open his mind and the seams.

The events of the previous day ran through his mind; their time together earlier was vague and distant in his memory compared to now. He didn't remember where they'd gone for dinner or what had happened between then and coming home into his room. The thoughts were so jumbled in his mind that his memory was almost blank, leaving him with nothing to do but feel.

And suddenly the only thing he could understand came to his lips, hesitant and broken but genuine all the same.

"Arella, my angel."