One night of sleep down. Now, for more. Many more, all in a row. Broken up by the occasional sudden noise, the caught breath, the whispers suggested beneath the steady hum of a blurring fan.

Is that noise? Music?

Someone talking?

What was that creak? Is it the dogs? Is that lump a dog beside me?

Sudden kisses, licks of the face, a French touch unexpected, smelling of licked assholes.

Reassurance.

There is love where there is no noise.

There is no sleep where there are licks.

Target: 700 words
Written: 372 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Pawn Of Prophecy, David Eddings
Comics: The Tithe 3-4, Postal 5-6
Music: Ultimate Survivor, Survivor (again, why?)