Art’s hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you back to his bed as he gave your hand a playful bite. His soft chuckle echoed in his dorm room when you pulled your hand away, letting him wrap his arms around your waist and bring you back under the covers. He smiled against your neck once you finally relaxed, loving the way you moved closer to him due to the chilly December air coming from the window that he intentionally left open the night before.   You both know that if you two didn’t get up soon, you’d end up running late to your classes, which is troubling given the fact that finals are not that far away. But he couldn’t find it in himself to pull away from the warmth your body provided in the early morning, nor could he tear his eyes away from your sleepy appearance.   Your messy hair was sprawled out against his pillow, your eyes half-lidded with sleep when you looked at him, adorned in his Stanford tennis shirt that you lazily threw on when you woke up. The fact that you weren’t wearing anything else underneath was provocative, but Art tries to be respectful when his hands roam your body.   Art has been on you more than usual the past week. He spent most of his time around you, whether it be in the library, the dining hall, during his practices, or just simply being your arm candy. He was content with the amount of attention you’ve given him lately. Maybe it was the fact that you agreed to stay with his family for the holidays that had him a tad bit domestic.   “Stop trying to fight me.” He murmured with a smile against your collarbone when you tried to get up again. He nipped the skin before pulling you back to his side. Art can’t seem to wipe off the grin from his face whenever you’re around—enough to make his cheeks hurt, but it’s worth it. You’re worth it.