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Date Posted: 00:49:29 11/24/02 Sun
Author: Slally
Subject: "Breathing Space" - Chapter 49
In reply to: Slally 's message, ""Breathing Space"" on 19:20:10 11/22/02 Fri

Ian cleared his throat and attempted to collect himself. It took him a few moments to shift gears. Sara recovered more quickly. "You didn't interrupt anything we can't pick up later," she said to Lazar. "Right, baby?" she asked Ian. Ian blushed, embarrassed. He dropped his head, still obviously in awe of Lazar. "Sure," he mumbled into his chest, "Later." Lazar turned his head from side to side to study both of them again, then said, "Good. We have a lot of work to do." Moving toward the fireplace, he said, "Come over here and sit with me." They followed him. Ian sat beside Lazar on the sofa and Sara curled up in the chair across from them.

"First," Lazar said, "Tell me your concerns." Sara nodded. "There's this bit…woman named Blaque. She's able to project herself anywhere apparently and that 'projection' – for want of a better word – is able to inflict physical damage," she added, touching her scratched cheek. Lazar nodded. "Is there some way to keep her out?" Sara asked. Lazar frowned and said, "Do you both see her or is the projection selective?" "If I get what you're asking," she replied, "She seems to be targeting me for her visits. The first time she came, Ian didn't see her. I was alone the second time that she showed up." "Is there a reason that the woman is avoiding you, Protector?" Lazar asked.

Ian shrugged. "There's bad blood between us," he said, "But I don't think that would stop her. I think she's attempting to play Sara and I off against each other. She's tried to make Sara jealous – which, of course, is ridiculous." Lazar smiled. "Of course," he agreed, "Did it work?" Ian and Sara glanced quickly at each other and then both dropped their eyes, not answering him. "Ah," Lazar said, "I see. You should be aware that your enemies approach you in many different ways. If they can drive a wedge of any sort between you, they succeed. There is no one line of attack; the paths are legion. Be wary." "That's comforting," Sara replied, "So, how do we fight this bitch? She can hurt us but if we retaliate, we're slapping thin air."

"If you believe that she is solid, she is solid and you can harm her," Lazar said, "Conversely, if you believe that she cannot touch you, she is insubstantial and cannot touch you." Sara looked frustrated. "Congratulations. I think you just won the Nottingham Cryptic Crap of the Month award," she told Lazar. Ian gasped. "Sara," he hissed, "Show a little respect." But Lazar only chuckled and lifted his hand toward Ian. "I understand that the Wielder means no disrespect," he said, "I've watched over Sara since she was a babe and I've become used to the colorful way that she turns a phrase." Sara threw Ian a smug look before she asked Lazar, "So, what exactly does that mean in practical terms?" "In practical terms," he replied, "It means that I'll teach you how to fight the bitch." Sara grinned and said, "Cool." Ian looked over at her, shaking his head, but he couldn't help grinning back.

Now, Lazar focused on Ian and said, "Protector, something rather remarkable and unprecedented has happened to you. The Witchblade has taken upon Itself to heal you – not once, but three times. This last time, in ways that I wouldn't have believed possible." A beautiful smile illumined Ian's face. "You have been accorded more favor than any Protector in my long memory," Lazar added, "This strong bond you have with the Witchblade brings me greater hope for our success in what lies ahead."

Lazar frowned. "On the other hand," he said to Ian, "I believe that you are experiencing some of the trials that a new Wielder endures. The Witchblade has, essentially, also chosen you and your conditioning no longer blocks your deeper emotions. It is testing your connection; determining how far It can stretch your will to achieve Its own desires. Yes?" The color rose in Ian's cheeks. He was uncomfortable discussing what happened between he and Sara in the bedroom with Lazar. Ian cleared his throat and said, "The Witchblade has certain tastes that are a bit darker than ours." Sara snorted. "Ian's being delicate," she said, grinning at his discomfort, "I think his initial observation was closer. I believe you said, 'The Witchblade likes it rough,' didn't you, baby?" His cheeks got rosier.

Lazar nodded, not a bit taken aback. "Wielders commonly remark about their struggle with the Withblade's bloodlust," he said, "A less common, but equally intense struggle can occur with It's eroticism – which, of course, is still coupled with elements of the bloodlust. I imagine that you have found this too?" Sara nodded. "We started having fights so that we could make up…," she paused, searching for a word, "enthusiastically." Now, Lazar cleared his throat and Ian dropped his head. After a pregnant pause, Lazar said, "This situation is both unique and more intense for you as Wielder and Protector because the Witchblade is trying to control you both. I believe that you have already begun to regain control. The key lies in being aware of what's happening and exerting your own will to change it."

"So is this push for frenzied monkey love going to slacken off any time soon?" she asked. Lazar coughed. She heard Ian make a little sound. She couldn't tell what it meant because his head was too low to see his face. "If I understand you correctly, the answer is 'no,'" Lazar replied, "The essence of the relationship with the Witchblade is a balance of wills. There is a constant accommodation, a continual shift, to find a common ground that works for you both. And, of course, in this case, for the Protector as well." "I wouldn't worry, though," he continued, "The Witchblade only chooses those with wills that can match Its own. It enjoys the contest. That is why it does not suffer pretenders gladly and turns them into drained husks of what they were before they usurped the privilege."

"Here is a riddle for you to ponder, Protector," Lazar said to Ian, "Kenneth turned your will back on itself, using it to stifle rather than enforce your desires. However, that will must now be both strong and free or the Witchblade would never have chosen you as Its consort. Take heed of that fact because it's important. The Witchblade has chosen you as Its own lover, not just acknowledged you as the mate of the Wielder. As far as I know, that has never happened before." Ian's head came back up, golden eyes wide. "What does it mean?" he asked.

"I cannot begin to guess the Witchblade's motives," Lazar replied, "From a practical standpoint, it means that the connection of feminine and masculine elements – of Wielder/Witchblade and Protector/Excalibur – between you is stronger than any other I have known. We will attempt to strengthen it even more before adding the catalyst of the orb as the wildcard." "How?" Sara asked. "By teaching you how to connect with the Witchblade in ways that are still unknown to you," he responded, "By training you to communicate so seamlessly with each other that it is effortless and automatic. Our goal is to enable you to function in the heat of battle as if you were one entity rather than two." Ian and Sara looked at each other, their eyes locking. "Like we do in bed, baby," she said, her mind to his. She felt a strangely sensual mental caress that was unmistakably Ian as she watched his eyes darken again.

The odd sound of Lazar's chuckle caused their eyes to shift to him. "Frenzied monkey love," he said, shaking his head. Their eyes met again, bemused. When Lazar clapped his hands, Ian and Sara blinked then looked back at him. "Right," he said, now all business, "Time to begin." For the rest of the morning, Lazar took them through a series of exercises that were designed to teach them to see their world from the Witchblade's perspective. As he told them, "If you are able to alter your perspective, you are able to alter your reality." Because the Witchblade "saw" their world from an alien perspective, the normal laws and rules of nature held no meaning. Space and time became fluid concepts rather than linear progressions. In short, anything was possible.

Sara was struggling to move beyond her literal mind set. Ian, however, was able to easily grasp the paradoxes inherent in the Witchblade's perspective. To help her understand, Sara began using Ian as a translator through their connection. Although they made progress, it was mentally exhausting for all concerned. By mid-afternoon, Lazar could see that they'd advanced far enough for one day. Ian sat on the floor before the blazing fire, his back resting against the sofa, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. As soon as Lazar called a rest, Sara crawled across the floor to nestle in Ian's arms, which he wrapped around her protectively. His face dropped to nuzzle her hair.

Studying them benignly, Lazar thought, "They are so much in love with each other, these two. I hope that they are able to enjoy it for a while this time." Shaking himself out of his reverie, he said, "Remember, children. If your friend the projectionist reappears, 'see' her from the Witchblade's perspective and she will pose no threat to you. Moreover, if necessary, you can do her harm – even though she's mere vapor. Sleep well. Tomorrow we will work on this some more and you will begin to learn how to focus your power." So saying, in his typical fashion, Lazar disappeared.

Sara snorted, cuddling closer to Ian. "Guy makes a hell of an entrance and exit," she said, voice muffled against his chest. He rubbed her shoulder and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. "Tired?" he asked. "My head hurts," she replied, "And I'm starving." "Me too," he said, "I wish we could order pizza." Sara laughed. "God, listen to you," she said, "I've really corrupted you, haven't I, Nottingham?" She felt his shoulder lift. "Whatever changes you've made in me have been for the better, Sara," he said, "How about peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? I'll make us a big dinner tonight." "Ummm," she sighed, "That sounds wonderful. I also want more coffee and a couple of aspirin."

She slid her hand up under his sweatshirt to stroke warm muscle. "I also want you," she said, her voice dropping. She heard his grin. "What's the order of those requests?" he asked. She slipped her hand back out. "Aspirin, coffee, food, you," she replied. He made a rude sound in the back of his throat. "Well, I guess that put me in my place, didn't it," he said. "I'm sorry, ace," she said, pushing up and away from him to head toward the bathroom, "My head is really throbbing." "It's okay, love," he replied, also getting up and heading toward the kitchen. "Why don't you lie down while I make the coffee and sandwiches?" he called back to her, "I'll bring them in when they're ready and we can eat by the fire." "That's sounds good," she said, swallowing the aspirin and praying that they'd work soon.

She veered into the bedroom to grab the fleece throw from the bed. When she came back to the sofa, she plumped up the pillows under her head and stretched out under the soft, warm throw. Sara lay there staring into the dancing flames within the fireplace. Suddenly, she was in that featureless, ethereal realm that she thought of as the Home of the Witchblade. She faced another version of herself who was clad in shining breastplate. She thought of this haughty and proud lookalike as a visual representation of the Witchblade. It was not very haughty now though. In fact, both of them were crying. "I'm sorry," the Witchblade said, Its voice raw with grief, "I can't change this. To save him, you must lose him."

The light changed and she was in a cold forest on a night bright with flames. She saw Hector Mobius thrust the Lance of Longinus through a feral and loathsome creature while Vicki Po crouched by his side. Vicki called out a warning as another creature leaped on to Mobius' back. The scene changed again and she was facing a shimmering wall of crackling power. The wall spanned a tear in the world, the two sides of which were slowly coming together. On the other side of that gap, chaos twirled madly. Standing before it, arms wide spread was a figure that she'd last seen on the balcony above Irons' great room when she'd fought with the effigy of her father. Just as the two sides of the hole were about to come together, the wall fell. In that instant, a searing bolt of light shot forth from the figure beyond the gate. It came straight at her, blinding her. Before it hit her, a wall of black blocked her vision and she woke.

Sara sat up with a loud gasp, hands to her mouth, eyes wide. Ian was only a few feet away, holding a tray with sandwiches, mugs, and a coffeepot. He quickly set the tray on the table beside the sofa and sat beside her. She flew into his waiting arms. He held her tight, stroking her back. "What?" he whispered soothingly, "What is it, baby? Did you have a bad dream? Shhh, it's okay. I won't let anything hurt you. You're safe." She tightened her arms around his neck and buried her face in the hollow between his chin and shoulder. "God, you're shaking," he said, shaken himself, rocking her, "Everything's alright, love. It was just a dream. You're here. I've got you. I won't let anything hurt you."

In a little while, she stopped shaking and her breathing eased. She pushed gently back from Ian who seemed reluctant to let her go. He touched her cheek, still concerned, and she caught his hand, kissing it. "I'm okay now," she said, a little raggedly, "Can I have some coffee, please?" He smiled, relieved, "That sounds more like Sara," he thought. "Sure," he said aloud, turning to pour her a mug of coffee. He eased the mug carefully into her hands, saying, "Take it easy. It's hot." She took a sip of coffee and sighed gratefully. He looked at her expectantly. "Give me a minute," she said. "You can have as much time as you want," he replied, still tense, "Are you okay? Do you need anything?" She smiled and touched his cheek. He turned his face into her palm to kiss it. "I'm okay now, Ian," she said, "You can settle down too."

Ian wedged himself into a corner of the sofa and pulled her carefully back into his arms, folding the throw around them. He held her tightly and she held the mug of coffee in both hands, taking several small sips. Finally, she sighed and said, "I think I dreamed parts of the Convergence." Against her back, she felt Ian's heart speed up. "And it scared you that much?" he said, "That's not good." "None of it was good," she replied, "Some of it was really bad." "Can you tell me?" he asked, "Or is it still too fresh." "I saw Mobius fighting off some awful looking beasties with the Lance, and Vicky Po was with him," she said. "Vicky?" he said, "How is that possible. She doesn't even know Hector and what would she be doing here?" Sara just shook her head. "I haven't a clue," she replied.

"What else?" Ian asked. "It looked like Irons' mentor, that thing that was watching from the balcony when I fought with my 'father,' was directing the action from beyond the gate," she continued, "Just as the gate was closing, our wall collapsed and, through a little opening, that thing shot some nasty light beam thingy at me. It was coming straight for me when I woke." "Okay," he said, "This is good." She turned her head a little to look at him like he was nuts. "What is it that I always say?" he asked. She couldn't help it. The edges of her lips turned up. "Forewarned is forearmed," she quoted. "Give the lady a cigar," he teased. This time she laughed. "You can keep the cigar, ace," she replied, "Unless that's one of your tricky metaphors." Now, he laughed.

"More coffee?" he asked. "Yeah, thanks," she said, "Did I see sandwiches? I'm starving." "That's my baby," he said, "I know you're okay when your appetite kicks in again. How's your headache?" Sara looked startled, then said, "All gone. I guess my dream adventure knocked it right out of me. That and the aspirin." "Good," he said, adding, "Unfortunately, you need to let me up if you want more coffee and some food." "Oh, sure," she replied, sitting up so that he could move to get the tray. Ian poured more coffee into Sara's mug and handed it back to her. Then, he handed her a plate with two PB&J's on it. She dove into them like she hadn't eaten in days.

He watched her as he delicately nibbled on his sandwich. "I know," she said, "I've had nothing very healthy today – just the coffeecake and now this. If you make them, I'll eat some veggies tonight." He frowned. "Are you reading my mind now?" he asked. She smirked and said, "Nah. I just know that look you get. Are you going to eat the last sandwich?" He shook his head and handed her the plate. "So, what are you going to do with the rest of the afternoon?" he asked. "I'm going to make use of that wonderful punching bag you got me," she replied, "How about you?" "I need to chop more firewood and bring it in. Then, I think I might read for a while," he said.

They did just that. Sara had a good, long workout with the punching bag and felt deliciously exhausted afterward. She took another shower and changed into clean sweats. Ian restocked the firewood and built up a roaring fire before settling into the chair with the first book of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Sara found herself drowsing back on the sofa, wrapped in the throw, content to admire Ian and the fire. About 7:00, he put the book aside to start dinner. She picked up the book while he was cooking and had almost read to his bookmark when he came to tell her that dinner was ready. They had chicken parmesan, green beans, and salad. Sara ate all her veggies. Once again, they carried the rest of their bottle of white wine and glasses back to the fire with them after they'd cleaned up the dinner dishes.

"Why don't I make us a nest on the floor here by the fire and we can sleep here tonight?" Ian said. "A nest?" Sara repeated, smiling, "Better line it with a rubber sheet." "I'll be sure to use washable materials," he said, "What do you think?" "I think that I'd love to nest with you by the fire again," she said, "As I recall, the last time was pretty spectacular." He started toward the bags by the bookcases and she called, "Watch out for those pesky Scrabble tiles." He'd taken off his boots as soon as he'd returned from his firewood foray and he was barefoot again. "Thanks," he responded, "I was just about to do it again. I need to get those damn things up tomorrow." She snorted. "Yeah, I know," he replied, moving gingerly, "You've heard that before."

He returned to the fire carrying a large, white bundle and another black fleece throw. Her eyes widened, "We've got two of them?" He nodded and said, "Three actually – but they're all washable." "What's that other thing?" she asked. "A featherbed," he replied. She raised one eyebrow. "Just give it a try," he said, "I bet you'll like it." She watched as he spread out the featherbed on the floor in front of the fireplace, between the sofa and the chair. He covered it with one of the black fleece throws. As he went into the bedroom to get the pillows off the bed, Sara dropped from the sofa down into his nest, pulling the other fleece throw with her. It was heavenly soft and warm. Just, in fact, like a nest. She shivered, imagining what that warm, soft fleece was going to feel like under and over bare skin.

As she was lost in her sensory daydream, a pillow hit her in the face. "Hey, Nottingham," she growled. "Hey, Sara," he replied, his voice full of love, gently throwing her the second pillow. She looked up at him, standing tall and lithe above her, etched in firelight. "Do me a favor?" she asked. "Anything," he said. "Strip for me," she said, her voice husky. He didn't respond for a little while. She could see that his deep desire to please her and his innate shyness were fighting it out. "Okay," he said, "But I need some wine first. Want some?" She nodded. He poured two full glasses of wine and handed one to her. He took two very healthy swallows before setting his glass on the table. She smiled at him, thinking that he was adorable. "Take it easy, baby," she said softly, "You'll knock yourself out. And if you do, I'll be really pissed."

She pushed up on one elbow to get a better view. He was still just standing there. "Want me to hum a tune?" she asked. He made a rude hand gesture. She laughed sensually. "Just shut your eyes and think about what we're going to do once you get those clothes off," she told him, "But, please, don't hurry. Take it nice and slow." She heard him let out a shaky breath before he reached back to pull out the band holding back his hair. His wild, shiny mane tumbled around his face, tipped with firelight. Sara felt the first little quiver in her belly. "Good start," she whispered, "Go on." He held the bottom of his sweatshirt and very, very slowly began to pull it up, first exposing the well-defined abs, then his hard muscled chest – nipples standing erect under her gaze. Sara smiled and thought, "Okay. He's starting to get off on this too." When his torso was uncovered, he arched his body up as if to meet a lover's hands and pulled the shirt over his head. It dropped to the floor from one languid hand.

He looked down at her, dark amber eyes glowing hot in the lambent light. She could see that he was trembling. "I want you very badly right now," he whispered, voice husky. "Finish it," she breathed, wanting him just as badly. He latched his thumbs under the band of the sweatpants and started to ease them down over his hips, his eyes locked with hers. First the sweet crater of his navel appeared, followed by the soft pleasure trail that disappeared into the band of his briefs. The steady downward motion stopped, impeded by the full erection straining against his briefs. A tiny moan escaped him as the elastic band of the sweatpants rubbed over his sensitive shaft. Freed from any further restrictions, he let go of the pants and they fell to the floor, pooling around his feet. He stepped out of them gracefully.

Another sigh escaped him and he suggested, "Why don't you take these off me?" She studied his long, beautiful body possessively. Lit by the flames, he looked like something Michelangelo might have sculpted. "Alright," she responded, rising to her knees and crawling over to him across their nest. She rose up on her knees so that her face was even with his belly. He buried his shaking fingers in her hair. His breathing had gone deep and ragged. Now, she hooked her thumbs under the band of his briefs and started to slowly pull them down. It soon became clear that she'd have to hold him to ease the briefs away from his swollen shaft.

As soon as she touched him, he let out a little cry and his body arched against her hand. "Easy, baby," she said softly, "Hold on." She got the briefs past him and he sprang free. She licked away the glistening drops at the slit on the head of his shaft, and Ian's fingers dug deeper into her hair, pulling her toward him. He was panting now and making soft, needy sounds deep in his throat. She ran her tongue down the length of the hard column, feeling it dance against her lips. He cried out her name with that little ache in his voice. She moved back up and took him fully into her mouth, using her teeth and tongue against him, picking up the tempo. Out of control, Ian's hands and hips joined their movement to hers. In another few moments, he climaxed with a wild cry, throwing his head back, his long hair streaming behind him.

Just as Sara sat back on her haunches, Ian's knees gave way and he dropped to the floor facing her. He bent forward to rest his head on her thighs and slip his arms around her waist. He was still panting and shaking. She leaned over him, one hand running through his damp hair and the other stroking his back. "You always come so hard," she said softly. "Do I?" he whispered breathlessly, "I guess you just pull everything out of me." She chuckled and said, "Well, I do hope that there's something left for me." He nuzzled his face against her thighs and said, "I'll manage. Just give me a couple of minutes for the blood to return to my brain." "That's no fun," she replied, ruffling his hair. "Don't worry," he mumbled, "I'm sure it won't stay there for long."

She gave his hair a little tug and said, "You should get under the covers before you get chilled." "Okay," he responded, "And you should get out of those clothes." "Okay," she agreed, "Want to help me?" He lifted his head and the jungle-cat gleam was back in his golden eyes, "Oh, yes," he purred. She smiled and inched back toward the pillows. Ian followed her, crawling forward on all fours like a big, beautiful cat on the prowl. He slipped between the two fleece throws and stretched his long body, shutting his eyes and making another soft sensual sound like a purr. "Nice," he breathed. She smiled and shook her head. "My clothes, Ian," she reminded him. His eyes flew open and he sat back up. "Sorry," he said, grinning mischievously, "The fleece momentarily seduced me." They both stopped, just looking at each other. Then, she reached out a hand to push his hair back off his forehead. "Kiss?" she asked. He nodded and asked, "Would you mind if I got rid of these clothes of yours quickly? I want to feel your skin against mine." She raised her arms and he pulled off her sweatshirt, tossing it to the chair. Her pants and panties followed.

Now, he said, "Kiss?" She wriggled under the throw to stretch out facing him. They moved close against each other, hands stroking and caressing as their lips met. Their tongues dueled and her leg found its way up over his hip. Finally, they pulled apart, breathless. Ian rose up above her a bit and pushed Sara over on her back. He worked his way slowly down her body – licking, teasing, nibbling – until every part of her was primed and ready for action. When he settled between her legs, Sara's fingers reached down to nestle in his hair. He went to work on her with his clever tongue, while he slid two fingers inside her, stroking in time with his licks.

In a little while, she felt the steady build of sensation moving toward a climax. Her hips started to thrust against him, in rhythm with his tongue and fingers. When he picked up the pace and pressure, it was only moments until exquisite pleasure exploded through her, causing her to cry out while she watched white lights explode behind her eyelids. She gently flexed fingers stiff from clutching his hair. "Did I snatch you bald?" she asked weakly. She heard his soft, sexy laugh from somewhere below. "There's plenty left," he said, "No worries." "Where are you?" she asked, eyes still shut. "Right here," he said, next to her on the pillow again. She jumped. She hadn't even felt him move. Her eyes opened to stare directly into his smoky golden gaze. "Keep it up," she warned, "And that leather collar with the bell is an inevitability." "I'll wear as little or as much as you want," he replied, running his warm hand up and down her hip. "Now that presents some interesting possibilities," she said, smiling.

His hand slipped down across her stomach and he began to stroke her again with one finger, hard and fast. He got an immediate response. Ian knew the exact spot to rub and in minutes she was again straining against him, aching for release. He stopped and moved over her, bending her knees and pushing them up against her chest. As he thrust hard inside her, he returned his finger to that sensitive spot and resumed his caress. When Sara put her arms around his body to pull him closer, they both saw the Witchblade flash bright scarlet on her wrist. "Oh, boy," Ian gasped, "Here we go again." Sara just had time to think, "I should try to exert my will like Lazar…," before all further rational thought took a ten minute vacation.

She opened her eyes to see Ian balanced above her, arm and shoulder muscles straining. His eyes were shut tight and he had fierce frown of concentration on his face. His finely curved lips were slightly parted and he was expelling tiny explosions of breath with each push of his hips. Because her own hips were tilted forward by the position of her legs, he was once again sheathing himself deep inside her. All the muscles inside her were welcoming the intrusion and inviting him to stay a while. The full orchestration bore the stamp of the Witchblade as its conductor. Still, as the intensity of the pleasure grew and grew, neither Sara nor Ian was inclined to do anything but go with it and let it wash over them.

Just when Ian thought that his heart might burst inside him, he felt that now familiar sensation of everything in him gathering to give itself over to his Sara. And he once again came very hard, crying out with the intensity of it. Sara also felt the sensations that she was learning to crave start deep inside her. Familiar now, the orgasm exploded way inside her, sending its shock waves all the way back out. She too let out a pagan cry with no care for disturbing Mrs. Miller.

When she was again able to move, Sara stretched her bent legs a little and Ian rolled off of her, falling on to his back beside her. She carefully turned on her side to curl close to him, sliding her arm around his waist and resting her head against his shoulder. She felt his arm tighten around her. His eyes were still shut. "How are you?" she asked. "Used and abused by my lady's Lady again," he replied, a touch of humor in his weak voice, "What was it you said? Ridden hard and put away wet?" She shivered and he pulled up the throw, turning a little to wrap it around her more tightly. "How are you?" he asked. "Getting addicted to those monster orgasms that you're giving me," she replied. He made a little sound and said, "If that means that you're also getting addicted to me, I guess I can live with the manipulation, maybe even welcome it."

She stretched her body against the fleece and hooked her leg around his. "I like your nest," she whispered, getting sleepy. He turned his face to nuzzle her hair and whispered, "It has a couple of advantages you probably haven't considered." "And they are?" she asked. "You can't fall out," he said, sleepy now too, "And, you're closer to the coffeemaker in the morning." "Way cool," she replied, "Goodnight, baby." "Goodnight, my love," he whispered back, already half asleep.

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