Nightmare — Alain & Ysabella (Patreon)

Alain gazes at the ceiling above.

It is nicely painted, with gold streaks on the corners and charming little reliefs along the edge. He gazes at it, lips plucked, eyes half-lidded, and limbs stretched lazily on the plush mattress. His whole body tingles with a heaviness that uplifts instead of weighing down. His nerves are alight, but not to induce a frenzy, they... they are satisfied.

Content.

Alain grins, lips pulling to one side. Content is the correct word, he supposes. He is content. How odd. How odd, indeed, the situation he finds himself in.

A light snort has Alain turning his head to the side, curls falling over his forehead, to gaze at a new sight. In truth, this view is much more intriguing than his bedroom ceiling, but alas, Alain doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

He doesn't quite know what to make of your closed eyes, your tousled hair and flushed cheeks, and your head resting on the crook of his shoulder. He knows what to make of your naked body, of course, of the warmth of your skin flushed against his own. He knows what to make of the curve of your hip, and the fullness of your buttocks on the palm of his hand. He knew exactly what to make of the lines of your throat, where faint red spots mark the places his lips explored.

Alain knew what to do with you, and you did too. But this...

Your face looks incredibly peaceful. You don't snore, but he can hear you breathing and feels the air washing over his neck. This part is unfamiliar. Alain should be disentangling himself from you now and seek another room to sleep for the night. You would wake in the morning and find your way outside, and this affair between you would stay buried.

And yet. Alain looks to the ceiling again, his arm shifting from your bottom to the crook of your waist. And, while not knowing why, the noble gently pulls you even closer. He doesn't want to wake you. He better just... stay still and try to sleep.

He closes his eyes, but he sees your face still, now floating in the darkness of conscience. Your round cheeks, your lips half parted, your face... so at peace.

"Stop!"

Alain's skin jumps out of his body.

He jerks up, leaping out of bed with eyes as wide as the moon. His heart slams against his ribcage like a mad beast as he looks frantically to the door. The windows. Where—

"No! Stop! Don't leave."

Very slowly, Alain looks down.

You're writhing in bed with your eyes shut tight and your head turning from side to side. "No," you mumble again, lower this time. Your eyes bounce behind closed eyelids, and your fingers twist the bedsheets like claws, but whatever you fight, you do so in dreams.

"What..." He doesn't know what to do. Alain looks to the table in the far corner and considers the bottle of red wine on it. Would it... would it help you?

"No, please."

The sound pierces into his chest. He winces, and without thinking, Alain sits beside you. He can't pull himself away. His hands hover over you, eyes bouncing anywhere. "God's pompous ass," he curses. "This is why I don't sleep with anyone," he tells you. You don't answer.

You just turn again, your face contorted. You look heartbroken, you look... you look so incredibly terrified. "Don't go."

You lift a hand in the air, seeking, grasping.

Alain takes it. "I won't," he says. He leans his head next to yours, his other hand cupping your nape. "I won't leave, sparrow. I promise."

-

You're pulled from absolute darkness by soft, gentle whispers.

Calming breath washes over the skin of your ear and the curve of your cheekbones. Fingers, long and agile, softly knead the back of your head. You open your mouth, but a wail comes out, and you realize that the warm streaks down your cheeks are blazing trails of tears.

"I promise. I know my word's not worth much, but I promise."

The whispers continue, and now you feel a soft pressure on your temple. Your eyelids flutter open. "Alain?"

The whispers halt at once. The hand leaves your head to cradle the side of your face. "Sparrow?" A sweet voice comes once more. You blink and see him then. His face is right above yours, brown eyes bouncing all over your features. "Are you awake?"

You try to speak again. "I... am."

Alain lets out a sigh of relief. His shoulders fall, and he closes his eyes for a moment. "... breeches," you hear him mumble something you can't quite make out, but then Alain seems to pull himself together. He snaps his eyes open and throws you a grin. "Look who's back."

But the grin looks feeble, his voice weak, and his handsome face has dark circles under his eyes. "Welcome to the land of the living."

Your hand aches and you realize you're clutching his hand so tight that all your nails are white. "I'm sorry," you gasp, moving to let go, but Alain doesn't let you.

He closes his fingers around yours and pulls your hand to his lap. "Just stay here," he says and lays beside you. His arm goes around your shoulders, pulling you until your head rests on his chest. "Bella used to use my shoulder as a pillow. I never heard her complain."

Fear and loss still loom at the edges of your consciousness. Your whole body shakes, and you know he can feel it. But Alain keeps talking beside your ear, his fingers twirling on the hairs on your nape, and softly, gradually, you feel your eyelids close once more.

His hand never leaves yours as his voice carries you into a dreamless sleep.

- - -

Ysabella has to cover her mouth to stifle a giggle.

You are on your side, your beautiful lashes closed and catching the glow of the fireplace, and from your dearest lips, a tiny stream of drool comes out. It soaks the pillow, and Ysabella has never seen such an utterly endearing sight.

She bites her lip, laughing as quietly as she can so as not to rouse you. You deserve your sleep. You've been so very good to her. Ysabella lifts a bracelet-covered arm, and gently scoops up your drool, wiping it on the sheet. She then lingers, nails lightly grazing your jaw, then down to your throat. She follows the path of your collarbone and sprawls her fingers over your shoulder socket.

Your hand on her waist suddenly jerks, and she giggles now when you pull her into you. Her curls sit like a cloud around her head, and she sees you wrinkling your nose when they brush against it. Bella bites her bottom lip because she wants to squeeze your cheeks, but she won't. Instead, she carefully brushes her curls back before cupping your face and putting her nose next to yours.

Ysabella Theer peers into your features. What a dear face you have. She sees the scar on the cheek, the unique shape of your brows, and the way your mouth tilts the slightest bit to the right. Ysabella wishes she could have more than the embers on the fireplace to illuminate the chamber, for she suddenly wishes to see you wholly.

She wants to put every inch of you to memory. Your scent, your warmth, the way you speak, the sound of your breathing, the manner in which you touch her. How her name rolls from your tongue.

She wants to remember it all, for nothing in her life ever stays, and Bella has long learned to live in the land of daydreams.

She sighs, pushing the dreary thoughts away. Now it's not the time to mourn what will come. She has to enjoy the present. And the present has you in her arms, sleeping peacefully, sleeping beautifully.

"Don't... have it," you mutter, the words slurred. Ysabella perks up and waits with bathed breath. "Don't."

And then she giggles. "You're sleep talking," she whispers very low. "Be careful, dear. You may spill some secrets, and I can't help a good gossip."

Your eyebrows crinkle and the hand on her waist suddenly tenses. Ysabella flinches when you tighten your hold on her, your fingers digging into her skin. "No," you growl. "I don't—"

"Ah!" she gasps when you push her away. Ysabella almost falls from the bed, her arms failing at her sides. Her heart bursts into life, beating on her eardrums, but she can't take her eyes away from you.

You're grimacing in an awful, terrible way. Your mouth is twisted, and your eyes shut tightly, and Ysabella can see how much you hurt. But she doesn't understand where the pain is coming from. "What is happening?" she yells, frantic, and launches to your help. She grabs your arm, but you force her away again.

"Please!" She is near a panic. She knows it, but Ysabella can't stop it. "Please, let me help you."

You grab your own hand, your fingers clawing at your glove. And Ysabella sees, now, that you are still asleep. You are asleep, and in the cruel arms of a nightmare. "Don't have it. I don't!" you shout once more, clawing now at the center of your palm.

She will not let you stay there. Ysabella approaches you again, but this time she's ready. She ducks under your hand and wraps her arms firmly around your torso, hugging you as tight as she can from behind. "Please," she begs, trying to soothe you, trying to still your ragged breath. "Come back from this. Wake up, wake up. You're scaring me."

Slowly, so very slowly, you heed her request. You stop fighting, your muscles relaxing under her grip, and Ysabella could sob from relief when you let go of your glove. She intertwines her fingers with yours, pulling your hand to her lips. "Wake up," she whispers, kissing each of your knuckles. "Wake up."

-

"Wake up."

You do.

You open your eyes, and your first instinct is to bolt. Your hand burns, it hurts like hellfire, and you want to run. You need to go, you have to—

"Please."

Soft, pliant arms are wrapped around you, elegant fingers on each side of your ribs. You feel a chest press into your back and a breath smelling of flowers on the rim of your ear. "Wake up," Ysabella begs.

You can feel her hair, mingling with yours, and then she picks your gloved hand and squeezes your fingers. "Please."

"Bella," you rasp out.

She jerks. "Oh!" And then her face peeks from over your shoulder. Her brown, beautiful eyes are wide and guilt rakes you when you see the tears glistening within. "Oh, you're awake!" she sings, diving forward to kiss you.

Her lips are soft and warm, and she holds you for dear life. You close your eyes, losing yourself on her tongue, running from the shadows that want to claim your mind. You turn around then, pressing into her until your lungs beg for air.

"You were dreaming," Ysabella pants when you part. "You were dreaming, and I— I didn't know what to do. You wouldn't wake."

Your hands tremble when you reach for her. "I'm sorry."

"No." Ysabella shakes her head. You adore how her curls bounce around her face. "No, don't you dare apologize. I'm the one who failed you."

You lower your brows. Your throat has a knock in it, and your palm seems to be sizzling, but you push the nightmare away because, right now, Ysabella needs you. "Don't be silly," you say, tilting her chin towards you.

Her voice sounds choked. "How can I help?"

You smile. "You already are," you say. "Just... stay here?"

Ysabella nods. You sigh, kissing her once again as you gently guide her back to lie on the bed. You rest your head on her chest and feel her fingers on your back. "I didn't mean to scare you," you tell her.

Ysabella doesn't answer for a while. She keeps massaging your back, and your eyelids close at the sensation. Sleep slowly curls over you, its lull impossible to resist. "I was never afraid of you." Comes her voice from the gentle darkness. She kisses the top of your head. Once, twice. "I was scared of losing you."

You move your mouth to answer, but words are too heavy, and you fall into slumber. Your head resting right over her heart.