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    Summary

    The dream returned to him with startling clarity, still clinging to the edges of his frayed mind as he rode the line between sleep and lucidity. There were flashes of a mouth pressed to his neck; blunt teeth toying with his earlobe; a smooth, familiar voice that spoke downright filthy promises against his skin; and a broad hand that slid lower and lower until it pushed beneath his waistband.

    A bead of sweat rolled down the tip of Aventurine’s nose, onto his lip. He licked it away, tasting nothing but salt and pathetic desperation.

    Shit. That was definitely a sex dream about his dear, irascible (platonic) (work) partner.

    Or: Aventurine has a sex dream. Ratio lends a hand.

    Language:
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