Writing prompt: Last Day of Holiday
He woke up gently, warm and comfortable in the bed he’d spent 7 mornings waking up in. As his eyes adjusted to the late morning light they settled on the dark dusting of hair on Derek’s arm. The arm that was slung around his middle, and the cause of a not insignificant amount of the warmth he was feeling. Derek ran hot. Hotter than humans anyway.
But it didn’t matter how gentle, warm and comfortable his waking was, as soon as his brain caught up with his body the heavy ball of lead in his stomach made itself known. Today was the last morning he’d wake up in this bed, with this warmth. With Derek.
Their escape from reality was over, his life back in Beacon Hills could be avoided no longer. His life of college essays and part time jobs and werewolves and danger and other people. His life of being ignored by Derek in the name of keeping up the pretence that they weren’t in love with each other.
No. Scratch that. He wasn’t in love, he couldn’t be. They’d made that deal. One week. One week together to get it out of their systems, to let each other give in to the desire that had been simmering below the surface of their every exchange since the day they met 2 years ago. They’d made the deal. No feelings were going to be had. Sexual tension, untensed. That’s all this was. That’s all he’d let it be.
At least, out loud.
Privately, he’s going to allow himself to never forget the 7 days in Derek’s bed, in Derek’s arms. 7 days of whispers and moans and sweat soaked skin. 7 days of soft touches and harsh kisses and teeth grazing skin. This holiday from reality had become the only reality he ever wanted to experience.
Beside him, Derek shifted. He decided to pretend to be asleep just a little bit longer.