He dreams of hands questing inside his pants.  Cadaverously pale hands.  Not Aeryn’s.

“No!”  His yell comes a microt before Aeryn’s.  Both are abruptly awake, sweating, simultaneously
trembling in the aftermath of their dreams.

“Torture again?” John asks, hugging her.

“No.”  Her shrug transmits reluctance.   

“Sexual.”

Aeryn nods.  “You?”

“Would have been erotic if I was dreaming of you.”

“Same here.”  Aeryn watches him, starting to smile.  "Extremely erotic."

“Replace bad memories with good ones?” John suggests, grinning in the dark.  

“We would be foolish not to.”  She makes it sound supremely reasonable.

“What was your dream about?”   

“You first.”


                                                        
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