semimeme: (pic#5392932)
Semi-Meme ([personal profile] semimeme) wrote in [community profile] bakerstreet2013-02-06 12:53 pm

Sleeping together: the meme.

It's that damn plurk meme. Sort of.

This is the Sleeping Meme. Plain and simple, your character is sleeping with another one. While sharing a bed and sleeping together with someone is very intimate, smut is not necessary.

What do:
1) Post with your character. Name and canon go in the subject line.
2) Include your preferences.
3) Tag around.
4) If you tag, pick a letter from A-H according to the diagram above. Ta-da. That's the position the characters are sleeping in.
5) That's it.
kinetosis: (peel up off the street)

Cloud Strife ☼ Final Fantasy VII

[personal profile] kinetosis 2013-02-08 10:10 am (UTC)(link)
more_than_words: (where we belong.)

This is us. ALL the numbers!

[personal profile] more_than_words 2013-02-09 06:11 am (UTC)(link)
[Outside it's one of those cold, rainy, miserable nights, pitch black with bursts of white lightning that photograph everything for a second of silver and gray before plunging back into darkness. The rain falls in sharp little needle teeth, tapping persistently against the glass of the shuttered window as the wind tries to find cracks to sneak in through, prowling around the cabin like a threadbare wolf. Inside the cabin the lights have long since been off, the fire in the small fire place barely even an orange glow anymore and in that dim light, Tifa slowly, silently stalks her prey.

She's a patient hunter and each shift closer is mild, miniscule. Subtle. Scoot. Scoot. Closer and closer. The inch between her and her goal grows smaller by determined fractions. That she's sound asleep while in the process doesn't make that much of a difference really and inch by inch her cold toes, the rest of her body following, seek out the luring source of warmth under the covers. Close enough to touch - and the second her toes did, they're burrowing under the warmth of a leg, a calf and a... knee? Probably. The rest of her body quickly follows suite, though with less burrowing under and more snuggling in close.

Better. Much better.]
Edited 2013-02-09 08:05 (UTC)
kinetosis: (reality is a lovely place)

let's just do the alphabet in order okay. STARTING WITH A

[personal profile] kinetosis 2013-02-10 11:45 am (UTC)(link)
[ and Tifa you're obviously the big spoon

The scenery reminds him of home - or a home, rather, one he hasn't thought of but once or twice, intermittently, over the years - of huddling up under the heaviest quilt in the house and falling asleep to the sound of rain battered endlessly down by wind against the walls and the roof and the windows, with nothing to entertain him but his silent determination to patiently await the dawn. These days, it's not an association that brings about much, in his mind; it's hard to be homesick for a place you can only remember in assorted bits and pieces, that comes back only as a bad radio signal from several worlds away. Distant doesn't even begin to describe the feeling - but maybe there's some innate comfort left in it, somewhere.

Because heavily isn't even the first part of how he's sleeping, in counterpart to her considerably more restless slumber. He's so deeply under that she even gets away with that first tentative touch of ice-cold toes, undisturbed in her pursuit. It's a move usually worthy of at least a hard flinch and definitely an offended glance thrown back over a shoulder, but he doesn't even begin to wake until she's pressed the rest of herself so close.

His leg twitches, first, before he mutters some smooth, sleep-foggy sound and slides the whole frostbite endangered limb out of her toes' reach - the other gradually following suit.

the alphabet goes A → C, right ]
more_than_words: (I've seen too many people hiding)

I just assumed we kind of skipped over G and H - boooooring

[personal profile] more_than_words 2013-02-10 01:56 pm (UTC)(link)
[It's not a large bed, though large when compared to the close confines of a sleeping bag is subjective, but it's large enough for a modicum of privacy for its sleepers and it's deep and soft enough when compared to cheap plastic hotel rooms in questionable slums or vinyl covered rocks under tent floors. Easily more comfortable than trying to sleep in the Little Branco's crowded seats.

It's still not enough room to escape and cold toes go determinedly following after that brief, lost paradise of warmth as Tifa's brows pinch down in her sleep.

The whole problem would be easy enough to remedy, heading off icy probes in the night, but Tifa doesn't wear socks when she sleeps. too hentai Steel toed boots are good for cracking shins but after a full day in them she likes the freedom of being barefoot with fresh washed feet and, perhaps, is even a bit stubborn, in her own quiet way, about it. Which is to say it's her common sense that brings it up more than the taciturn man diligently seeking to unconsciously avoid hidden ice cubes in the night at the moment. His back is nice though, distracting enough temporarily for her to burrow her face against, tucking hands that are slightly warmer than the toes up in balls against the curve of it and the familiar smell of his skin is soothing enough, along with the soft feel of his inhales and exhales to lull her. Curled in close, it's enough to still her, settle her, anchor her.

Until the next gust of wind outside has her childhood memories of cold nights flaring and her toes automatically seeking the hot water bottle that's long since been replaced with first the emptiness of nothing and only herself to care and, more recently and heart-tuggingly, with a warmth that isn't her own and she doesn't have to supply for herself. A warmth that's usually shared, however grudgingly, and her cold toes edge up to threaten an ankle that didn't make it far enough away thanks to it being attached to a body via leg.]
kinetosis: (and flutter everywhere)

E forever though, that's how winners sleep

[personal profile] kinetosis 2013-02-14 10:28 am (UTC)(link)
[ There are worse places to sleep. Like the cab of a broken down old truck, cramped up in cracked leather seats and the suffocating heat of the desert (and surrounded by bloodthirsty convicts, in the meantime). Or tucked back into the frozen, hard-edged confines of an icy cavern, miles above the rest of the world (and any semblance of comfort or convenience). And they've slept in them all. And he definitely prefers the reassuring, plush give of a real mattress beneath him and real, thick blankets pulled up past his shoulder and usually over his ear, too, and most of what's not spiked and blond on him, at that.

But that doesn't make it any more excusable for her to foist her icicles-that-ought-to-be-toes off on him to take care of.

He doesn't pry at her about the habit, of course; it's just one of those things that's far too mundane to bring up even in passing. A fact of life. And he'd be a hypocrite for calling her out, anyway - there aren't any socks on his feet, either. But maybe it's about time they have a conversation about maintaining an appropriate level of body heat. On one's own.

Though not right just now, given the height of his eloquence (not a trait he's well known for, under any circumstance) is an incoherent mumble of sound, as he scoots further away. This time with some real conviction, unwary of the bed's fast approaching edge or how far he might have to slump over it to stay in his pocket of quilt-encased warmth. Rolling over onto his stomach to fend off her approach semi-(very semi)-consciously may be overkill, but the slivers of green-glowing blue that disappear again as he closes his eyes are far too foggy with sleep to be a sign of purely good judgement. ]
more_than_words: (I found a home in your eyes)

[personal profile] more_than_words 2013-02-15 10:04 am (UTC)(link)
[Tifa isn't a chaser by nature. Maybe, once upon a time, she'd been more assertive about voicing her wants and her thoughts but a quick end to childhood safety and a rapid introduction to life in the slums has since taught her to keep her heart hidden and her thoughts to herself. So it's much more her nature, these days, to either stay put, patiently waiting for people to come back to her or else to follow, often a few steps behind to stay close without crowding than to actively chase after them. At least in the waking world where her subconscious is tamped down by her self-consciousness about appearing weak or clingly.

When Cloud shifts away again, this time much more obviously than before, even in her sleep she stills. A part of it is some latent awareness kicking in - but part of it is also the discovery that, in his attempts to flee ice cubes in the night, he's left his spot. Which had become a comfortable pocket of warmth in his time there and which Tifa, unintentionally, has moved into in her pursuit of him. It's a encased bubble of warmth and it smells faintly like his soap and that vague, warm scent she's come to think of only as Cloud. That has her stopping, comfort settling in and she curls into the hollow he's left, face relaxing, chin tucking, quiet sigh slipping out of her. It's not Cloud... but she's still getting used to having Cloud to snuggle against in the first place, many more years of not having him than the much shorter time, the blink of an eye, that she has had him. If she's always gravitated toward him naturally, there's still a large part of her that's always a little surprised when he's there to gravitate toward. Caught by his warmth and the faint clean scent of him on the pillows and blanket, she finds enough contentment to settle her and her breathing deepens out, body relaxing again.

Even in sleep though, even used to being alone, deep inside where her heart lives, she knows something this missing. Someone. There's a slight roll onto her back and then, when her body comes into contact with nothing one of her hands spreads, searching. Nothing. With a quiet murmur of sound in her sleep, her other leg slips out of the pocket of warmth, stretching in the night, this time hunting for more than warmth as only semi-thawed toes go scooting with a bit more force than intended across the bed under the blankets.]
kinetosis: (on sugar maple wings)

[personal profile] kinetosis 2013-02-19 02:08 am (UTC)(link)
[ It's easy to misjudge distance with your eyes closed, and even easier to act on an impulse without perfect control when you're still wading in the shallows of consciousness, one held breath and a few seconds of sinking from the depths of real sleep. Cloud knows this; Cloud's done this - both ways.

But it's hard to be forgiving, just the same way. And when Tifa hauls off with that still semi-frozen foot, sending it his way with just a hair's breadth more force than she means to - Cloud flinches, and drags himself a little closer to shore.

He's already hanging off the edge of the bed, not exactly comfortable but not really uncomfortable enough to be bothered, yet. (He sleeps sitting up when he has to; he'll sleep however he must, now.) The blanket's barely hooked around him, sheets helping him maintain both his balancing act and his remaining warmth, here on the cold cliff of the mattress, and she wants him to move farther over?

He sits up on an elbow, quilt still lumped up to his ear and hair in disarray, masking half his startled glare (always the way he looks when he's woken up). ]

You kicked me.

[ The cold feet are excusable, but when she starts trying to edge him off (and then maybe all the way to under) the bed, it's time to take a stand. ]
more_than_words: (I know where the form is changing)

[personal profile] more_than_words 2013-02-19 06:34 am (UTC)(link)
[She is, by nature, not a light sleeper. By habit, she is, forced to be that way with too many years of living in the slums, of having to be aware of dangerous noises in the night, and later, of having a small child nearby, stand-in substitute for a father that was often gone when nightmares of fire woke one or the other of them. That doesn't mean however that, given half a chance and a feeling of safety, her mind doesn't trust in that completely and retreat from its usual vigil to paint dreams in her head instead. Cloud makes her feel safe - and safe to drop her guard. So, despite all the movement and the subconscious restlessness, it's not even the impact of her foot with him that wakes her, needing the sound of his voice, gravel in the dark room, to struggle out of dragging sleep enough to slit her eyes open in confusion, head turning automatically to the sound of his voice even before she gives that first deep inhale that admits she's awake now and what does everyone want for breakfast.

Except there's no one here but them and breakfast is hours away and she lays there in the dark contemplating his narrow, glowing eyes, waiting for some thought to present itself for evaluation. It's a long minute before she finally rolls over on her side to face him, legs tucking up on 'her side' automatically, so much better than laying on her back, especially since the blanket is stretched too far between the two of them and little chill drafts are creeping in under her side to send little uncomfortable flickers over bare skin. The hand pinned against the mattress shifts, rolls palm up, fingers reaching toward him with the unconscious freedom she's still wary of when entirely awake. Voice thick with sleep and throaty, she manages a vaguely puzzled:]

Cloud... what are you doing over there?
Edited (totally inappropriate icon choice) 2013-02-19 06:35 (UTC)
kinetosis: (reality is a lovely place)


[personal profile] kinetosis 2013-02-19 08:00 am (UTC)(link)
You kicked me. [ he repeats, as if this is some kind of spell-magic mantra, surely one that will clear the air of any lingering confusion and wrest them both to wakefulness - the obvious answer.

It does nothing for him, though, even in that persistent, sullen tone with which he delivers his affirmation a second time, flat and plain as the polished wood furnishings adorning their rented cabin room. He wields it like an unfamiliar weapon, a new acquisition that he can't quite find the balance on, so he chokes up and misses a swing and probably loses his footing. But he holds it up doggedly, anyway, because he can.

And because there isn't a lot of higher function getting through, beneath the smothering blond mop of his hair and his first thing in the morning (or middle of the night) indignation. There are no plans for the day, made or remembered, in his head, and nothing so pressing as daily obligation comes floating to the surface of his mind. His mornings are always a new gauntlet of fitting in the necessary alongside the usual and then making it out the door with spare enough to reach his first destination, and then move on to the next.

There's still room for juvenile accusations in the darkest corners of the night, in sleep-clouded tones, between what should be, routine, and what is. ]
more_than_words: (show me sunset and I won't forget)

pshh, she wouldn't have hurt him TOO badly. What's a little fire ball amoung friends?

[personal profile] more_than_words 2013-02-19 12:54 pm (UTC)(link)
[Her brows pinch down over her eyes - which narrow slightly, but it's not dispute so much as confusion. She wouldn't have kicked him. She'd remember if she kicked him and, besides, when Tifa kicked people, they tended to stay kicked. So her lips part, automatically ready to deny his accusation, breath even drawing in before the push outward of sound -

and then she stops. Under the covers, there's a tell-tale movement as her toes rub together, one bare foot against the other. The vague glint of awareness rises, just a little, in her wine dark eyes in the night.

He looks very sure, and very sullen and accusatory, about the whole thing, from the one eye and edge of another she can see past the almost non-existent light from the banked coals in the fireplace and the fortress of blanket he's still got, somehow, tucked up around his ears despite what she's beginning to realize is a pretty precarious position on the edge of the bed.

She honestly can't imagine why she would have kicked him, even less than usual given her mind's insistence that not waking entirely will make falling asleep again that much easier. There's another twitch where her toes are, muffled self-accusation in a lull in the wind as the blankets and sheets rustle the sound. It's just a little thing, something small and practically unnoticeable, a kick in the night that didn't even make him leave the bed entirely, much less dent a wall, but in her sleep muddled state, it's a horrible thing to have done to him, possible more so for the fact it woke him up than any actual physical damage. Her chin tucks until it's just her eyes peering over the rim of the blanket at him, hands coming up to ball near her chest and, tired enough to be honest, her body scoots the smallest inch closer. She sounds less like a master martial artist and world savoir and more like a little girl who's still not sure how much damage she's done but knows the appropriate response is:]

whysocirrus: (☇003)


[personal profile] whysocirrus 2013-02-23 01:07 am (UTC)(link)
[ On the list of things it's even remotely appropriate to hold a grudge about, being accidentally (and only a little bit) kicked isn't high. Or present at all, really.

It's not long after her apology (or maybe just the look, alone) that he lets most of his remaining indignation fall by the wayside. (It's useless, anyway, in this half-asleep state of mind. More dying embers on the hearth of his mind, neither warming nor illuminating, now.) So instead of furthering his cause, once it's obviously gotten through, he decides to assess his own half of the situation. Scrunched down far enough on (what he's left of) the mattress to still have blankets humped up around his head, one cold, bare foot skimming the floor and the other more or less anchoring him to the last stronghold he's established on the edge - the position is neither particularly comfortable nor especially appealing, in the long run.

Her sliding farther over toward him is more likely to boot him the rest of the way out of the bed than draw him back (if she wants more space, she can have it), but he doesn't notice the shift. Too busy figuring out the mechanics of climbing back into the bed without letting go of any of the remaining heat trapped with him, or any of the precious inches of blanket he's managed to accrue. ]

...Move over. [ is all the warning he offers, before he's heaving himself back up to a safer spot, no longer dangling over the vast precipice before the floor. If his left foot is cold, when it collides with the curve of a shin, that's probably just karma. ]
more_than_words: (come and rest your head)

but...but - they're SUPPOSED to be inappropriate when they're in bed!

[personal profile] more_than_words 2013-02-23 06:39 am (UTC)(link)
[The edges of her lips quirk upward, just a hint as he heaves himself back into bed, scooting backward herself because it isn't room she wants on the bed and she doesn't mind grumbles in the night if it's the precursor of having him under the covers with her. Maybe one day she'll get used to having him sharing a bed with her, not get the little jolt of happiness through her heart to feel his weight settle on the bed and know he's going to stay - but it hasn't happened yet and a part of her hopes it never does. The thud of his icy toes against her bare leg is incidental, she knows, knowing at the core of her he'd never hold her mistakes, intentional or otherwise, against her. Besides, it's not a hard knock, all things comparative, and so the cold of it is more impressive to her than the actual impact. That, and all the shifting, has her giving a shiver in the sneaking cold that's busy slipping under the shared blanket but she doesn't crowd in right away, more awake now than moments ago, awake enough to wait for him to settle, knowing that her spot won't show up until he's done.

He looks cute in his ruffled, grumpy chocobo way and she may be tired enough still to smile a little over it but she's not tired enough to tell him so. She doesn't take his grumpiness seriously this way because she knows he doesn't mean it, at least not at her. So instead she waits for him to signal he's in the right spot and she's invited back in. Even still half asleep, she doesn't really mind waking up. Not if it means the opportunity to cuddle shamelessly in against him again.]
kinetosis: (on sugar maple wings)

don't make him push the beds apart again. B( PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE FENG SHUI

[personal profile] kinetosis 2013-02-26 09:41 am (UTC)(link)
[ He's all business until he's met the halfway point in his work, first finding his way back under the covers proper and then throwing and tugging and strategically fitting each individual blanket back over them both. It's a matter of practicality, really - and though nobody could mistake him for a perfectionist, exactly, he does have a meticulous streak that often only chooses the oddest of times to surface. Like in the smallest hours of the morning, under heaps of bedclothes and an unfamiliar ceiling and the steady, blustery stir of rain against the roof. Once the whole scope of his world is set to rights (one that spans, at present, to each edge of the mattress, the headboard, and that bit of the cold floor he can still feel on his chilled toes - the fireplace a distant, dying star), though, he starts to settle back in.

And then stops, holding the hems of three heavy quilts aloft in his hand, when he turns to meet the quiet smile she's been observing with.

His expression remains the same (except for maybe in some indefinite ways, around the very edges), but something turns over behind his half-lidded eyes just the same. Another rumble of thunder rolls on overhead, and covers the soft sound of him shuffling forward to strike.

Instead of waiting for her to find her way tentatively back to him under the safety of his resumed unconsciousness and the dark that falls fully in between garish flashes of lightning, he snakes an arm under her and slips the other one around her waist - and drags her in close across the rumpled sheets. There's a spot where he thinks he'll fit just under her jaw, just past her cheek, where neck meets shoulder, and it's probably warmer, there, so he presses in close, stealing greedily what she leaves waiting at his hands.

Well, he's always considered himself selfish, anyway. ]
more_than_words: (one cannnot see)

NOT THE I LOVE LUCY BEDROOM ARRANGEMENT! besides, they'd still both crowd into one little bed

[personal profile] more_than_words 2013-02-26 06:01 pm (UTC)(link)
[She's stayed still, watching him fuss with the blankets, enjoying the fact he pays just as much attention to making sure she's covered as he does himself, and so when his eyes cast up in the unreliable lighting, brighter than any crack of white, she's already half dozing, eyes still open, as she feels lulled by both the soothing feeling of his fastidiousness movements and the content feeling of being safe and guarded over. All he gets at the start is a sleepy blink as it registers that something's changed but it's not until his arms snake out and around her that the reaction comes.

It's a soft sound at first, a hiccup, like soap suds bursting in the air, startled surprise without a hint of fear or resistance to it that, somehow - realizing - ends with sheer, almost childlike joy. Inside her chest, her heart gives a little happy kick, utterly lost in loving those moments when he simply claims her without apology or hesitation and her arms raise for him without needing thought, winding around his shoulder in absolute welcome as he burrows closer, fitting her to him, himself to her. The laughter comes, soft and almost silent in the night, another carefree sound that lives more in her throat than her lips, too tired to think of holding back or of the last time she might have made that sound and she twines herself around him in return, loosed to simply do what she wants instead of having had time to try to think of what should be done.

A soft, bumpy humming replaces the quick ripple of laughter as his breath tickles her throat, the soft brush of his hair her cheek and shoulder and she stretches her neck, chin lifting so he can fit better, toes curling where they're buried in blankets. She doesn't have to hold back when they're both sleepy, when it's simply all right to be together and the world's no larger than the length of Cloud's arms, and she rubs her cheek, a muzzy nuzzle against his ear as she settles, fingers rising and falling to stroke down the length of his back and through his golden hair, eyes shutting as she smiles. One of her legs shifts, finds the barrier of his to nudge gently against.

The toes that started all of this aren't so cold anymore.]