Sound Asleep Dream Series Air Mattress Novels & Stories

The air carried the faint, familiar scent of mildew and old cardboard boxes that had been here longer than either of them could remember. She moved to the far corner where the futon lay. The mattress was bare, sheets stripped weeks ago in preparation for this. She lowered herself onto it, felt the weight settle between her thighs, and reached back to grasp the base of the plug. The rubber gave a little under her grip. She tugged once, twice, then slid it free in one smooth motion. The emptiness that followed was immediate, sharp, and exactly as it should have been. Mark had texted at seven: *Sleep plugged until I get back. If it shifts, push it back in. Collar on. Lights off.*

The mattresses arrive like a religious offering. People actually cheer — quietly, because the dead are rude about joy, but enough that Maya has to pretend she isn't moved by grown adults getting emotional over foam density. "Easy, everyone," she calls. "They're mattresses, not democracy." "That's because you already sleep on a bed," Aaron says. "I sleep on paperwork and spite." Eli jumps down beside her, two flat-pack frames under one arm. Dust streaks his cheek; a bruise is blooming along his jaw. He looks tired. Alive. Amused.

The energy under my skin was completely wired, far too restless for sleep. I stared at the sleeping platform, which looked perfectly calibrated to my wolf’s weight specs. Jessa had run a diagnostic on the sheets and verified they were clean and allergen-free, and a service omega had cycled through while we were eating to activate the internal heating elements, but I knew I’d just claw at the mattress if I lay down now.

Deep. Dreamless.and safe.

"It’s a crib, Dante, not a bunker." "The wood is solid, but the slats are wide." He critiqued, stepping closer. He leaned down and began to inspect the craftsmanship as if he were checking a server rack for vulnerabilities. "I will have my craftsmen reinforce the base with a steel frame and install a bio-monitor in the mattress. I want her vitals synced to my phone 24/7." I turned to look at him, half-exasperated, half-speechless. "You are going to be a nightmare of a father, aren't you?"

Greg asks for help to his room as he feels he might get a better night’s sleep in an actual bed instead of a couch, and I couldn’t agree more with him. Helping him to his room, I help him get situated on the mattress as he lies back against the softness. I hear what seems to be a pleasurable moan. I’m guessing that sound is the sound of approval of my mom buying the most softest mattresses ever in existence. “Oh, my motherfucking god, where the hell did you get this from? I need this in my own place when I get back there.” “You can thank my mom for that. I don’t know where she got them from. She got this place set up for me whilst I was tying down my loose ends and packing for the move here.

She adjusted herself perfectly into it and continued to sleep. For the first time in almost a month, she finally got some early morning sleep. Her body felt heavy with sleep and my brain was still filled with fragments of my dream from the night before. She rolled over to tuck my solid black comforter farther between her bare legs and pushed my body deeper into the mattress, one that wasn't foreign, stained, and filled with metal springs, but rather my familiar one, which was newer and packed with foam and feathers on the Inside. I sat and watched over her and the babies.

Dean's POV: "Oh my god, this is so unbelievable. I'm dreaming, right? I mean, this is perfect. It's too perfect. I must be dreaming. There's no other way. A pool and gym, seriously? And this bed feels like heaven. Jeez, I probably did have a brain bleeding, and I am now in heaven or something. Oh, oh, no. Wait, those painkillers, holy shit they are gooood, they've drugged me so well. For all I care, if this is what it does to me, I want to stay drugged. Like forever. I'm sure this mattress is clouds or wait cotton, fluff, or something like it.

He raised an eyebrow, "Well then of course you live in this sort of shack, that's barely an income." She felt attacked by that comment, and although shaky, said, "We don't mind living here." "Of course you don't mind," he shook his head and rolled his eyes, "it's the cheapest place you can live in. Anyways, where is he?" She pointed towards the couch, and when Draven made his way around, he chuckled, "He's a slob." Eric was a weird sleeper, his body always finding a distorted position and this time, since he was drunk, he was drooling and disturbingly moving in his dream, aggressively.

“I’ll be here until you fall asleep.” “Goodnight,” I say and not even five minutes later, I drift off into a dreamless sleep with the scent of Cedarwood and pine cones keeping the demons away.