DenmarkxReader - Warmth

Warm.  It was so warm.  I opened my eyes slowly, just a little, reveling in the comfortable warmth contrasting the cold air on my neck, shoulder, and arm.  The smooth chest beneath my fingertips registered and I smiled, making a soft noise of contentment as I rubbed my cheek against Matthias.  He chuckled in response, my entire body shaking with his laughter since I was partly laying on him, stretched out along the length of him with my head tucked under his chin.

“Mornin’, babe,” he said, smoothing my hair with a long stroke of his hand.  I made another noise, closing my eyes again.  It was rare to have a morning in bed with my boyfriend.  Usually one or the other of us needed to run off somewhere first thing in the morning, but today was a holiday and we could sleep in.

“Still tired?” he asked, chuckling.  I grunted in annoyance, his question ruining the sweetness of the moment as I recalled precisely why I was tired.

“It wasn’t my idea to drink until four in the morning, you alcoholic,” I grumbled, rolling off of him and wiggling my fingers against his side in the process so that he yelped.  Tickling successful, I propped myself up on my elbow only to go down with a shriek as he flung himself on me, his fingers sliding onto my inner thigh to wriggle there so that I kicked at him, wrenching his hand away from me and catching his other wrist in my free hand as it dove for my ribs.  He pressed down on me, trying to use his weight to pin me, but I twisted, getting my feet against the wall and pushing hard enough to flip us both over so that I had our hands trapped between us while I bore down on him with both weight and muscle.

“I am not an alcoholic!” he protested, trying to tickle me again.  I gave him a look of disbelief.

“The way you drink Matthias?  You need to lay off the sauce before you prematurely pickle your liver,” I retorted, before letting go of him and snatching up the down comforter that was about to fall off the end of the bed.  I wrapped the fluffy white cloud of a cover around myself with a shudder.

“God, it’s freezing out,” I griped.  Matthias laughed at me, folding back the edge of the comforter that I had put over my head like a hood.

“It’s not that cold,” he said, kissing me to stall my objection.   I let him, but the second he pulled away for breath I complained.

“It is too that cold!  Have you seen the frost on the windows?” I growled.  He grabbed the visible edge of the comforter and wormed his hand into my cocoon to find the other edge.  I steadfastly held my ground, keeping the comforter wrapped tightly around me.

“Would you just get rid of that thing?” he asked, exasperated, “Or let me in.  Your choice.”  I turned up my nose at that.

“No,” I said stubbornly, “It’s too cold.”

“I’ll keep you warm,” he promised with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.  I stared at him, horrified.

“It’s bad enough you still insist on sleeping without a shirt on,” I said, pointing an accusing finger at his sleep-pants-only-and-barefoot state, “Now you want to undress me too?  I’ll freeze to death!”  I routinely wore my pajamas to bed these days, a warm blue and pink plaid flannel top and pant set that I frequently added fuzzy socks and a camisole to.

“Hey, you like that I never wear a shirt to bed,” Matthias shot back, getting frustrated and jerking the comforter’s edges from my hands through pure force, shouting in triumph as he did so.  “Ah ha!”  I made a desperate bid for the comforter, but Matthias tackled me, catching me around the waist and bearing me down on the bed with a yelp of surprise on my part.

“No, it’s cold!” I whined, squirming beneath him as he tried to gather my flailing limbs and only succeeded in subduing my arms though he didn’t still their movement completely and I nearly managed to smack him in the face.

“God, stop-  Babe, don’t hit me in the face!” he grumbled without malice as he finally caught my wrist and pinned it down.  He leaned down to get in my face, his breath hot on my skin.

“Do not,” he said rather seriously, “Hit me in the face.”

“It’s not like you need that pretty face, but okay, I won’t hit you,” I taunted him, leaning up to plant my tongue on his cheek and drag it up to his eyebrow.  He scrambled away from me with a shriek of outrageously offended sensibility.

“That is so gross!” he howled, scrubbing at his face with his hand and wiping off the already mostly dry spot on his face.  I was laughing too hard to even roll over.

“It is not funny!” he pouted, and I laughed all the harder, tears fracturing my vision before streaming down my temples.

“You didn’t see your face,” I gasped, finally rolling onto my side away from him and trying to stop laughing long enough to catch my breath.  It took a few minutes, but Matthias was still sulking after I had stopped laughing, so I sat up on my knees to kiss him on the cheek.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized, “But your face was really that funny.  Don’t be mad at me.  Please?”

“Okay,” he mumbled, turning his head to kiss me on the cheek too, but I found his lips with mine and left them there.  Before long, his expression had softened and we simply sat there and kissed for a while.

Later, we played a drinking game involving kids’ movies and got well and truly plastered.  Again.