[Open, multiples welcome] Where oh where have my dreams gone, and why didn’t they take me with them?
Murphy knows just staying awake isn’t a long-term solution, but she’s been pretty happy to escape Kitsune’s dream world for the real one. More or less. Now, she’s laying in the dark, listening to Harry breathe steadily in his sleep. She’s drifting, every so often jerking herself awake and trying not to move. Morning is starting to ooze through the windows when her eyelids flicker downward and she’s asleep before she can drag herself out of it again.
This one starts differently. She’s sitting in the middle of an open field, her hair wild around her, long enough to pool in hemped piles by her ankles. She has her knees drawn up against her chest. There’s power around her, a thrumming in the ground and creeping up to pulse with dizzy regularity against her temples. Hers. Hers, all of it, to do with as she will.
A gentle arm circles around her shoulders and draws her close. Murphy looks up at Kitsune’s face, and she looks unnaturally gentle.
All yours, Kitsune says, somewhere in Murphy’s head. It could be.
She kisses Murphy, gently at first, and then biting hard enough to draw blood. Murphy drags free of the kiss, tasting her blood sugar-sweet and only faintly copperish. Kitsune runs her tongue along the corner of Murphy’s mouth, and then presses her lips against the woman’s neck with heat that makes Murphy’s gut hum in spite of her own reservations.
Then Kitsune is gone, Murphy is coming slowly awake, and she’s standing at the gate with one hand on the latch of the little door.
---
[Closed to Peter Burke; backdated to just after this]
Neal eases back into the cabin, hoping Peter is still napping. It's a vain hope, really - he fully expects the other man to have heard every word of the conversation outside the window - but hey, everyone needs dreams. He leans against the door to ghost it shut, quietly, because even if Peter isn't sleeping, Nill is. Neal rests the back of his head against the door, his throat tight.
Damn, he'd like to go home.
This one starts differently. She’s sitting in the middle of an open field, her hair wild around her, long enough to pool in hemped piles by her ankles. She has her knees drawn up against her chest. There’s power around her, a thrumming in the ground and creeping up to pulse with dizzy regularity against her temples. Hers. Hers, all of it, to do with as she will.
A gentle arm circles around her shoulders and draws her close. Murphy looks up at Kitsune’s face, and she looks unnaturally gentle.
All yours, Kitsune says, somewhere in Murphy’s head. It could be.
She kisses Murphy, gently at first, and then biting hard enough to draw blood. Murphy drags free of the kiss, tasting her blood sugar-sweet and only faintly copperish. Kitsune runs her tongue along the corner of Murphy’s mouth, and then presses her lips against the woman’s neck with heat that makes Murphy’s gut hum in spite of her own reservations.
Then Kitsune is gone, Murphy is coming slowly awake, and she’s standing at the gate with one hand on the latch of the little door.
---
[Closed to Peter Burke; backdated to just after this]
Neal eases back into the cabin, hoping Peter is still napping. It's a vain hope, really - he fully expects the other man to have heard every word of the conversation outside the window - but hey, everyone needs dreams. He leans against the door to ghost it shut, quietly, because even if Peter isn't sleeping, Nill is. Neal rests the back of his head against the door, his throat tight.
Damn, he'd like to go home.