Book or TV: TV Verse, somewhere between "Walls" and "Things that Go Bump."
Rating: Adult. Rated R if you're in the US.
Spoiler: Minor plot/character stuff for "Hair of the Dog" and "The Other Dick," but nothing major.
Summary: Murphy's been having some crazy dreams lately. And she's not thrilled with whom they're about..or how they make her feel.
Disclaimer: All are belong to those who really created the characters. I'm just playing with them - I promise to put them back in the box when I'm done.
Author's Note: Millions of thanks to dotfic, beta extraordinaire.
Murphy poured herself a glass of water every night before bed. It used to just be an old habit; started when she was younger and still partying a bit, so long ago she hardly remembered when, where or how it started. What had once been simply a bedtime tradition was now a necessary ritual; she needed it to take her pills.
After swallowing the tiny orbs, she shut off her light and said a silent prayer, the one she said as often as she drank her water lately: “Please, not another nightmare. Not tonight.” Not that the mantra did much good. The nightmares still came, and the most recent batch were the most terrifying, by far. They’d gone beyond the garden-variety horror she’d almost become accustomed to and become something worse. And every night, they only got more elaborate, more involved, and more realistic.
They always began the same way. She’d show up at his place; always his place, always late at night. In real life she’d act like she hated his apartment. It was only to cover the fact that the candles, the smells of burning herbs and incense and the smells of him that filled the place made her neck hot and her knees weak. It smelled of him, which on a regular day was a heady combination of church and sex.
In her dreams, its power rendered her almost completely helpless.
She’d try to act like she was there on some other pretense. Never that she was in danger; she didn’t want anyone running to her rescue, not even him (Not again, anyway). Her story would change almost every night, too. Usually pieces of her real day would float in, or things that had happened long ago, that she’d almost forgotten. On the first night, she’d told him that she’d gotten into an argument with the pigheaded C.O. and felt like punching someone.
“Not me, I hope,” he said, flashing his crooked smile. She felt her entire body tense.
“Don’t tempt me,” she growled. He laughed.
“I just opened a bottle of wine,” he said. “Would that help?”
Soon after they finished the bottle, and another bottle after that, they were in his bed. She was on top that time, watching him grin and dare her to take all of her frustrations out on him, and watching his face contort with pleasure when she did.
In another dream on another night, the worst had nearly happened in a dark alley while pursuing a suspect. Luckily backup had arrived in time, but it shook her up more than she cared to admit. Beaten and exhausted, she’d dissolved into tears the moment he’d opened the door and asked her if she was all right. When she told him what happened, he’d taken her into his arms and let her sob to her heart’s content against his sweater. She never got to cry like that when she was awake - not even when she was alone; she wasn’t sure if she even could. But in this dream, in his arms, it came too easily, and almost felt too good (just like everything else). When she wasn’t sure if she could cry any more, he cupped her face in his hands to wipe her tears away with his thumbs and kissed her forehead, as if she were six and had skinned her knee. Tilting her head up to look at him, really look at him, she felt herself gazing into his kind eyes (filled with concern at this particular moment), and felt a rush. She kissed his cheek. He kissed both of hers, and her forehead again before she’d lost patience and made him kiss her mouth.
After that, he kissed her for hours, or what felt like hours. Long after he’d gathered her up in his arms and carried her up the stairs to his bed, long after nearly all of their clothes had been discarded on either side of it, he simply kissed her. Long, slow, wet kisses that made her moan and writhe underneath him, all but directly pleading with him to do more than kiss her. His arms stayed behind her back, his hands pressed against the skin, the fingers moving in small, torturous circles. After an eternity of his lips and tongue mingling with hers, she finally broke.
“Please, Harry,” she said, no longer above begging.
His lips traced kisses along her collarbone, and his tongue reached out to stroke her neck. His hips didn’t move.
“Don’t make me beg.”
He took a nipple into his mouth. Murphy arched her back and moaned.
“Please...” She gasped. “Please...”
He moved to the other nipple, rolling his tongue over the puckered skin and tugging it between his lips. It was then she began to whimper.
“Please, what?” He dipped his tongue into her navel, dragging it in curling patterns on her stomach.
“C’mon, Murphy. I thought you liked this.” He kissed her hip, and moved even lower, and soon she began to feel his tongue slowly stroking her clit.
“Yes,” she hissed, bucking her hips against his mouth.
He mad her come four times that night - twice with his mouth, and twice by his dick, when that finally made an appearance.
This had been going on for two solid weeks, and had to stop. She’d wake up exhausted. She had to tell her kid that she’d been having nightmares, after her daughter had gotten freaked out by her moaning and screaming in her sleep. And after the dream from two nights ago, she couldn’t look at, or even hear the word ‘handcuffs’ without turning beet red; a dangerous reaction for a cop, especially a female one. As she began to drift off, Murphy tried to will herself to dream about something, anything else, but it was of no use.
Two knocks, and he came to the door. He smiled at her.
“Hey, Murphy.” He didn’t look all that surprised to find her there, which almost annoyed her.
“What are you doing here?” He asked.
“Small world. Me either,” He cocked his head to the side. “C’mon in.”
This time, there was no pretense; nothing to say. As soon as he closed the door he was behind her, hands on her shoulders and face buried in her hair. The hands began to travel down her arms, around her hips, and back up to her breasts. Her breath was shallow and ragged as she stood there, enjoying his caress.
“I didn’t think you’d be back.” He whispered.
“Me either.” The rumble of his voice in her ear and his breath on her neck were too much. She tried to turn and kiss him, but he held her in place at the hips.
“Not yet.” He gave her neck a tiny lick, kissed the side of her chin, and slipped his tongue into her ear. Murphy leaned back into him, feeling his erection pressing into her backside. As he began unbuttoning her shirt, she reached back to try to cup him, but he pulled her hand away, placing it around his neck. He pulled off the shirt, undid her bra, and cupped her breasts in his hands, his thumbs massaging the nipples. He moved one hand off, undid the top of her jeans, and slipped it inside, finding her clit with ease. She gasped.
“Don’t? You want me to stop?”
“I thought you liked this?” She could hear the smugness in his voice. That had almost always been the game. He knew he’d already won, he was just enjoying her protest. She shifted to allow the hand in her jeans more room.
“Take me upstairs.” He spun her around, pulled her close, and kissed her. His old sweater was scratchy against her bare breasts, but his hands were warm against her back. She gripped the hem of the sweater and yanked it over his head, burying her face into his chest hair.
“Thought you’d never ask,” he said. “But not yet.” He sat on the couch, pulling her onto his lap.
She straddled him, and he smiled up at her.
“Hey, baby,” he said.
“Don’t call me baby,”
He laughed and kissed her breasts. “Whatever you say, Murphy.”
In her dreams, he never called her Connie. She had called him Harry, but he always called her Murphy. Granted, his version of her name could be filled with more tenderness and desire than some men had ever granted her given name. She leaned down to kiss him, relishing the taste of his lips and the feeling of his fingers twisting in her hair.
How do you know how to do this to me? She wondered. If he could read her mind, he didn’t let on. He just kept applying his lips to whatever piece of skin he could find - shoulder, chin, cheek, neck. She reached down between his legs and cupped him through his jeans. He hissed and arched his back.
“Tease,” he said
“You would know,” she said. “Was that an observation, or a request?”
“How about both?”
She raked the nails of her free hand across his nipple, and began to massage him with her other. He groaned, his eyes squeezing shut. She unzipped him, and moving onto her knees, she took him into her mouth. He hissed, grabbing at her hair with his fingers. She loved it when she could turn the tables - to be the teaser, instead of the teased. She moved her tongue in a criss-cross motion along the underside of his dick, massaging the top of it with her lip. He whimpered, tightening his grip on her. She cupped his balls with her hand, and sucked a tiny bit harder. He began to groan. She kept going until he spoke.
“I’m close,” he gasped.
She moved her mouth away, and smirked. “Guess I’m done then.”
“Don’t tease me...”
“I thought you liked this?” She said, and swallowed him. He reared back against the couch, and came. After he composed himself, he took her hand and led her up to his loft, and they tumbled into bed.
He always took his time, tonight it seemed to be more than usual. And with every careful roll and thrust of his hips, he drove her further and further over the edge. Every time he’d do it she’d moan, and drag her nails down his back, but it only seemed to egg him on. He rolled onto his back, shifting her on top of him without breaking rhythm. It was slow. It was glorious. It was a dream, of course. There was no way any man - even if he was a wizard - could last quite this long in the waking world. Or could he? She started to feel the warm rush that would hit before the orgasm, when he stopped his upward thrusting.
“Guess I’m done then,”
“Don’t what? Say it,” He was smirking, damn him.
“Tease me.” He squeezed her nipple between his fingers. She yelped.
“You want me to? I will..” He licked her between her breasts.
“Harry! Don’t tease me!”
He threw her onto her back and thrust deeply inside of her, again, and again, until she came, screaming so loudly she barely noticed his moan and shudder of climax. He pulled out and collapsed on top of her, wrapping her in his arms.
He kissed her between her eyebrows. “Think you can sleep now?”
“Uh huh. You?”
“Mmm. Don’t see why not.” He kissed her gently.
“Love you, baby,” he said.
And she woke up. Again. The clock read 4:35.
Murphy sighed. This was the worst part. She wasn’t sure if she was grateful that it was all a dream, or sad that she wasn’t still in his arms. Despite how good the sex was (and it was good), what frightened her was how she felt in his arms - when he’d kiss and cuddle her afterwards, murmuring sweet words and making her feel completely safe, and completely unguarded. It was Harry Dresden, for crying out loud. This was not the kind of stable, normal guy she’d promised herself she’d fall for this time. Her mind was probably just playing tricks on her. She wanted someone, definitely. It wasn’t him. That would be obvious the next time she saw him. She’d been avoiding him since these crazy dreams started, and at the very least owed him a phone call. She settled back onto her pillows, and fell into a dreamless sleep that lasted until her alarm went off.
She couldn’t work up the nerve to visit him until after lunch. They exchanged pleasantries. He was fine. Business was slow, always slow.
“You don’t look fine,” he told her.
“I’m not, really.”
“Still having trouble sleeping?” He asked her.
She nodded. “I’ve been having these dreams, and I’m pretty sure that they’re not normal, and...I want them to stop.”
“What kind of dreams?” he asked. Murphy wasn’t sure what to say.
“Dresden, you remember that succubus you told me about, right? That guy who...”
“You mean the incubus.”
“Incubus, succubus, whatever. How do you know if you’ve been possessed by one?”
His eyebrows knitted together.
“Woah...hold on. First of all, stop worrying. If it were an incubus, we wouldn’t be able to have this conversation. You’d be totally under his thrall, and you wouldn’t be able to ask for help.
You wouldn’t want it.”
She leaned against his desk for support. “I see. So there’s nothing - no kind of spell - that would make a person have dreams like that, normally?”
“Just the subconscious mind. I hear that’s a bitch.” He grinned. “I could help you get to the root of it, if you want. Figure out what’s really going on. After all, even Freud said a cigar isn’t always a cigar.”
“I try. So, you and Kirmani, huh? Is he into kinky stuff I should know about?”
She laughed. “Harry!”
He smiled. Her knees were getting wobbly, but she tried to ignore it. He had no idea, and she wanted it to stay that way. She had to get out before he figured it out.
“Who then? Anybody I know? The weird guy in the deli near your apartment? The center fielder for the Cubs? Oh God, it’s not the chief is it?” He shuddered.
She smacked his arm. “Don’t tease me!”
“I thought you liked that!”
Their eyes locked, and the room got deathly quiet. If he didn’t know before, he had to know now. She was beet red, and her heart was throbbing. Some poker player she was.
“I should go.”
“Murphy - what did I say? I’m sorry - don’t leave!”
“It’s fine, Harry. Don’t worry about it. It’s stupid. I shouldn’t have come here.”
“No, I’m stupid. I’m sorry I...”
“Forget it. I’ll call you soon.” She slammed the door behind her.
Harry watched Murphy’s car pull away.
“Naughty boy,” Bob said. “You should have told her you’ve been having the same dreams.”
“What? No. She would have gotten even more freaked out.”
“Or, perhaps you could have moved things to the waking world.”
“Doubtful. How the hell do you know, anyway? I don’t remember telling you any of this.”
“Well, you moaning and yelling ‘Murphy’ in your sleep was the first clue. At first I thought it was a nightmare, but then I recognized the difference between the sort of moans..”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Funny, I had the same reaction. It’s been a long time, but you don’t exactly forget.”
“You saw how she looked. And besides, she’s suspicious enough of me as it is. She’d probably
accuse me of some kind of spell.”
“Which you didn’t use. At all.”
“Not even that Egyptian fertility incantation I saw you look up last week?”
“Even I can’t do magic in my sleep, Bob.”
“I beg to differ - she wouldn’t have blushed so if you weren’t capable of something magical.”
“Back in your skull.”
“Of course. I’m sure you’re behind on your brooding anyhow.”