A/N: This will be a compilation of prompts (mainly sent by Stine). It's just easier to post here than on tumblr. All is un-betaed.

First prompt: Pillow talk

I didn't know where I was going with this and the verb tenses are a mess so yeah, whateves. Also, this is set up between 1x18 and 1x23.

Sex was instinctive, raw, impulsive, and irrational; it couldn't be emotional. It was biological, the continuation of the chain of reproduction, preserving humanity. But that had stopped making sense, her anatomy could no longer achieve life. So why did she need it? For pleasure? Fulfillment was fascinating, the excess of satisfaction, where enough was not a limit, where it had to be exceeded in order to feel completion. But she could achieve pleasure without a partner, without the act itself. She could win a case and fill that sense of vindication. Did she seek company? Did she want comfort? Had she become the cliché of the lonely middle-age woman?

She moved her hand through his chest, feeling the softness of his skin. This intimacy felt wrong, it scared her. It was unusual, it was not what she had expected from the beginning. She had found a way to relax for some hours a week, to surrender and commit to the simple ways of human condition. But here she was, head above his chest, leg intertwined with his, breaking the laws of proximity. She didn't know what she was looking for in him or with him. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes, her head moving to the rhythm of his respiration. She could hear the beat of his heart and hers quivered for a second. It was wrong, but she was not fighting it now.

"Are you leaving tonight?" Diane moved her head, marveled that his voice sounded so gruff and smooth at the same time. Then the words resounded in her brain, remitting her to the past nights they had spent together. She had walked out every time, she usually waited until he was snoring and had adjusted his position. The forwardness of the question didn't surprise her, what did was that she hadn't consider that her conduct bothered him. She could pretend to be asleep, but that would be pathetic. Then, this unusual pillow talk may help her define this.

"I don't know how I would accomplish that" She replied honestly. He placed his hand in her hair and stroked it softly, moving it away from her face. He glanced at her, her eyes fixated in a spot of his chest. She lifted her head, resting her chin in the center of his rib cage. "Was that your plan? Bringing me to the middle of nowhere so I couldn't leave in the middle of the night?"

"If you want to, you can" He moved his hands to the middle of her back as she climbed his torso with hers. Their expressions stayed neutral. She raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"You drove us here." He was giving her the option to leave, but he had made it impossible for her to escape. It was not just for the fact that he wasn't asleep, neither that he was holding her tightly, nor that she was 40-miles away from Chicago. She couldn't sneak out, because she didn't feel like it. Her smile disappeared, and she lowered her gaze. She returned to the original position, this time settling her head in his neck.

He allowed her to move freely. In the little time they had seen each other he had gotten to know that nobody could hold Diane Lockhart down. He hadn't complained about waking up and finding the side next to him empty, he had accepted that was her. He had accepted that their routine would be having a nice dinner and unwinding in a hotel room afterwards. When he had asked her to have dinner at his place he had been falling asleep, but she had accepted. She had remembered days later when he called her. Maybe, he shouldn't read so much between the lines.

"Diane Lockhart driving a pick-up truck. Quite the accomplishment" He chuckled and began caressing her hair again.

"Not going to happen" She laughed faintly, allowing her quivering breath to encounter with his skin. She then stopped abruptly and closed her eyes. She wouldn't be able to leave, at least not tonight. She would have to try to fall asleep, wake up by his side and have breakfast. It felt normal, nothing between them had been that way. She relocated her head back in the center of his chest. He sighed.

"You don't need to feel embarrassed. I've done it in the past" He allowed his head to fall into the pillow. He didn't want her to feel uncomfortable with his question. He blamed it on his fatigue.

"And why haven't you?" She separated from him and examined his expression. He was puzzled.

"Well, we always meet in the place I'm staying in, it would be counterproductive" He smirked

"So, if I had invited you to my place, you would've done it?" She teased him and waited for him to laugh more openly.

"No" He replied soberly. All curves from his face fading. She felt an ache in her chest and unintentionally planted her hand in his cheek. He studied her, both of their expressions blank. She lowered her face, trying to dissolve the tension but he caught her lips. She gave in, deepening the kiss, his hand tightening around her waist. She separated slowly from him, stealing a peck before retaking her place in his chest. She pressed her body to him as close as she could. He played with the skin under his fingers and she combed the hair her hand encountered. He closed his eyes as the patterns he was drawing on her skin became erratic and lazy. She shifted to make the posture comfortable. She closed her eyes and adapted to the combined rhythm of his heart and lungs.

"For a long time, I went to bed early. Sometimes, my candle barely put out, my eyes closed so quickly that I did not have the time to say to myself: I am falling asleep" He closed the sentence with a yawn.

"Is that-" She recognized the words, even though her brain was driving her to an unconscious state.

"Proust" He mumbled, his hand reached for the sheet and brought it up to her shoulders. She eyed him, not hiding her surprise, he smiled. "A sleeping man holds in a circle around him the thread of the hours, the order of years and of worlds. He consults them instinctively upon awaking and in one second reads in them the point of the earth that he occupies, the time past until his arousal; but their ranks can be mingled or broken."

"Did you learn that just to impress me?" She beamed at him. He opened only one eye.

"Yep. Did it work?" He smirked. She reached up to kiss him sweetly. He made her feel like a high school girl and he knew how to work his charm. The rebel senior swooning the straight-A freshman.

"His writing is a little arrogant, but interesting" His sleepiness taking over his voice. Diane rolled over and stared at the ceiling, her interest disappearing the exhaustion she had felt seconds ago.

"À la recherche du temps perdu is magnificent. The way he explores human emotion is fascinating. Have you finished Un amour de Swann?" She glanced at him and noticed that his eyes were shut, his lips curved.

"I like your French. Very fitting" He had only been able to make out the noises from her question.

"You are falling asleep" She nudged him playfully. He turned to his side, Diane followed and allowed him to spoon her.

"Yep, or as the bilingual lady would say: oui" The answer muffled by his head buried in her hair, his hand placed in her stomach. Her heart stung again. The chat hadn't helped her clear their situation, but maybe she could let go for one night. He was a sweet man, he wanted to make her feel good and she wouldn't resist, she needed the comfort.

"We can discuss Proust over breakfast" She whispered as she shuffled as near to him.

"Good" He placed a peck in her neck and closed his eyes. She was staying. Whatever this mean to him or to her, it didn't matter. It was a matter of the present, just allowing themselves to relish these meetings.