Loft above Luke's, Sunday night

[lovemykilt]

So apparently post-war on Dinah looked just a smidge clingy. Not that Priestly was objecting. Not even a little. He was still enjoying having her there and safe too much to worry about how much snuggling and petting was going on.

They'd marathoned Doctor Sexy yesterday, spent this evening watching bad kitchen reality shows, surrounded by junk food and soda (and veggies and water, because this was Priestly, here). Priestly had put several tiny braids in Dinah's hair and they'd done each other's nails, and then crashed out fairly early, Priestly steering Dinah over to the bed when she started falling asleep on the couch, reading a bit of Anthony Bourdain while serving as a body pillow before finally drifting off himself.

[ooc: for she who is mentioned in the narrative. Content note: will contain PTSD and memories/dreams of animal aggression and NPC character death.]

Comments

[blondecanary.livejournal.com]

Like Dinah had said yesterday: it'd been a while since she'd shared a bed with anyone. Especially anyone close enough to cling to like a teddy bear. And she was pretty wiped out.

So at some point, Dinah's hand touched Priestly's arm. And stayed there, as she started to dream.

...howling wind in the dark, cold, sharp air.

running running running, dogs barking ahead and people running running

a storm with faces in it nipping at their heels