While the desire to touch and feel is there, a sense of desperation is also present.
Marcellus remembers how cold, pale and limp she was. He remembers Winter in her most vulnerable form – weak, fragile.
That night was the worst night he ever had. Seeing her lying in his arms, unmoving and lifeless, had made him feel like crumbling from within. Like dying. It hurt him a lot more than those times when he was tortured and tormented. Now that he has seen her conscious again, though, steadily recovering, he finds the urge to make the most of the moment.
To make it last. To touch and feel. To convince himself that she's there with him.
Safe. Sound. Breathing.
"Marcellus."
He heard Winter whisper his name after she parted from the kiss for a bit, but he immediately placed his finger over her lips, not letting her speak. Marcellus looked down at her before he buried his face in her neck.
