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Arlene meets a sugar daddy, Pete makes a deal with the devil.
"You're going to be okay."
"The girl? . . . I'm sorry, kid."
He didn't protest as they trundled him into the ambulance. His headache was already losing its edge, replaced with a bitter emptiness. Cheryl.
They'd been together since high school. Before he met her, he'd never had any real goal for his life. He couldn't help but be inspired by her single-minded devotion to her studies, and just being around her had given him a secondhand sense of purpose (as being around him had given her the ability to slack off once in a while.) He'd followed her all the way to college, but now . . .
Matt, I'm right here.
He looked around the inside of the ambulance, finding nothing.
No, here. In your head. A tingle raced down his neck and along his arm. Now I'm in your hand. Back up his arm, to somewhere in his chest. And now I'm in your heart. Nice and romantic, isn't it? When I convince myself this really isn't a dream, I might just scream with the beauty of it all. Or maybe I'll just scream. Well, actually, I'll probably start trying to work out my momentum as I move around your body, but still, I really wasn't planning to spend the evening with me inside of you rather than the other way around--
He focused his thoughts. You're rambling. So, what do we know about what's going on?
I remember a voice saying something about dreams. Let me put you back to sleep, and we'll see what happens.
-- -- -- --
". . . If any person can show just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let them speak now or else forever hold their peace."
"I object to this union," Cheryl said from the assembled crowd. "It's much too cliche. And I was always planning to elope, anyways. Then again, I didn't realize this would be your dream--we never really talked about marriage."
Matt looked back and forth between the Cheryl beside him and the Cheryl in the crowd. "Oh, right. Dream. Yeah, I've had this since high school. It's . . . Well, it's a fun one."
"No harm in dreaming, I guess." The Cheryl in the crowd disappeared, and the one beside him suddenly seemed far more real. "Want to kiss the bride?"
As he did so, the scene dissolved, and suddenly, they were alone in a small, lavish room. "This was supposed to be our house," he explained. "Our bedroom. Our wedding night."
"Where we'll do nothing we haven't done before."
"Yeah, but it'll be married sex. That'll make all the difference."
"I wonder how we'll do that now? In real life, I mean? Maybe I'll go into your hand, and you'll look at Internet porn . . ." Suddenly, she was leaning against him, her legs unsteady, her head buried in his chest. "I'm supposed to be the one of us who always understands what's going on. Did I ask for this? I think I did. I don't even know what I should be feeling right now."
"Cheryl . . ." What could he say?
She flopped back on the bed. "Let's do this. Even if it is just a dream. This was basically where the night was going before the crash, right?" With a snap of her fingers, both of them were naked. "We can pretend for a little while longer."
On the bed with her, he began with another kiss, then lowered his attention to the hollow of her neck. She started panting almost immediately. Then he went lower, his tongue to her breasts . . . "Hot damn, Matt. Stop for a minute."
"You don't like that?"
"I'm reading your mind, remember? I knew you liked my boobs, but I never realized just how strongly you felt about them. You're practically turning me bi here, and I want revenge." Something shifted in Matt's brain. "There, I've set up a feedback loop. Now when you lick me, you'll feel how I feel, and I'll feel you feeling how I feel, and you'll feel me feeling you feeling . . . You get the picture. Still up for it, loverboy?"
Tentatively, Matt tried an experimental lick.