This is a dream, right? I asked myself. Then, it shouldn't matter.

The same scent permeated the air, the smell of warm skin and spices. I closed my eyes and savored it, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time. We were definitely horizontal this time. My hands sought the softness of his hair, fingers weaving along the tail in the back. I pulled him closer, insistently, and he responded, lips searching for mine. Our mouths met, and oh god, his kisses were so hot, so relentless, our tongues moving and intertwining in their own dance. His hands, oh, his hands, he had long, elegant fingers, what people describe as artist's fingers, or musician's fingers, and they played along my body like a master musician, everywhere at once. I pulled him closer to me, oh god, I wanted him closer, but damn him, he took his time, trailing his fingers over my fevered skin, nibbling at my neck, his hands moving down the sides of my back to my waist to my hips, where they rested . . . I could feel the heat of his breath against my skin, his lips teasing me. I moaned a little, pressing the back of his head as his lips and tongue caressed my nipples . . .

Oh, god, this was the best dream ever . . .

I wrapped my legs around him, and he gathered me into his strong, lean arms, and I felt him -

Oh. My. God.

My eyes widened as I could feel him easing into me. This had never before happened in any of my dreams. It had always been vague sensations, teasing, then orgasm. I could actually feel him, the unrelenting hardness of him, inside of me.

"Who are you?" I whispered as I locked my legs around his hips.

His single eye widened.

"Chichiri -"

I awoke.

Damn.

Swallowing, he waited a moment for his heartbeat to calm. He knew as he awakened that he would need to clean up. Glad that there was no one to see, Chichiri abandoned his bedroll for a nearby stream.

He submerged himself, allowing the cold water to clear his head. He shook his wet hair free of his face and took a deep breath.

Item: There were such creatures that invaded men's dreams in order to perform carnal acts, but such demons usually avoided monks. And even if they didn't, he'd put up a barrier against such creatures after the last dream like that. It was still there. If it had been a demon, stronger than he (and he wasn't exactly a weakling as mages went), his barrier would have been breached. But there they were - whole as when he had constructed them. Therefore, perhaps this woman wasn't a demon.

Item: He'd wanted her as badly as she seemed to have wanted him. He frowned in thought. Of course, she would want him - after all, he wouldn't dream about taking an unwilling partner. But why dream about such things at all? He was no longer a youth, hot-blooded and hot-tempered.

Uh-oh. Let's not go there.

Moving on. Item: She asked him his name.

Chichiri looked up at the stars, seeking out the constellations the Suzaku quadrant. For a long time, he stared at the stars, but no answer was forthcoming.

Why would she ask for my name?

Why, indeed?

"Daaa! I cannot think!" He dunked himself once more. Of course, he thought bitterly, this was exactly why monks did not engage in such relations. They distracted the mind, and depleted the energy of the mage. Unless, of course, one engaged in sex magic and elevated one's chi that way. But that is not my way, Chichiri maintained silently.

But it felt so . . . real.

It was going to be a long day.

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

I thought for a moment. I couldn't think of anything to quite top "holy fucking shit," so I left it at that.

I stared at my ceiling, concealed by shadows, and thought wonderingly about that dream. My lips tingled, as if bruised from kissing, and my nipples felt like I'd just walked into an icebox with no clothes on. I pressed one hand to my lips, and the other to my hips. It felt so real. I could still feel the sensation of him entering me. My eyes closed. It had felt so good. I couldn't understand it.

I replayed the dream in my mind, analysing it, but I could come up with nothing new.

Chichiri.

Slowly, I got up, reached for the clipboard and pen I kept near the bed. What do I say? I didn't exactly want to record a play-by-play of what happened.

That guy in the sex dream again, I wrote. It felt so real. I paused for a moment, wondering if I needed to add to it. It really felt real.

His name is Chichiri.

I stared at the name. What an odd name, but then, he was an odd man.

He had to be, since I dreamed him up.

This would have surprised most of the people who knew her, but she wanted to think and didn't want any distractions. She turned off the ringer to the phone, put on some music, and drew a bath.

She poured herself a glass of red wine, lit some incense, some candles, and stripped while the water roared out of the tap. She fixed her hair up into a bun on top of her head, and sank into the hot water with a sigh. She wanted so very much to do something for Maeve, but Maeve had to help herself at this point.

That look on her face tonight at dinner when she confessed to Eileen about that dream guy . . . Oh, Maeve, she thought. Honey, you're going to have to pick between the real world and the fantasy world.

She could understand what Maeve was going through, though. Last spring, one night, that asshole Ryan had shown up at her door. She'd never really liked him, and it had hurt to watch her friend turn from the lighthearted young woman to a haunted shadow. "But I can't live your life for you, dearest," she murmured into her wineglass.

In a way, Eileen was rather glad that Ryan had come to her that night. When he started insulting Maeve in front of her, she had gone very still. Let's see, I believe the words he used were "stupid, fat, lazy, untalented, and lousy in bed." They were the same words someone else used on her a long time ago. Eileen smiled to herself. She had exploded in his face, berating him, before finally putting the thumping on him that he deserved and throwing him out. Then she'd called Maeve and told her to either leave or lock up real tight, because she'd put a hurting on Ryan and he might go back and take it out on her.

Maeve was out in fifteen minutes.

But it had taken so much longer to put her back together again.

Eileen sipped at the wine, letting the hot water work its soothing magic on her. She narrowed her eyes in thought.

Keisuke.

Anthropology student.

Japanese.

Hmm.really important. And this was important. After all, this was her best friend's happiness.

And she really deserves to be happy.