"Hm? Dreams?" He actually managed to stop himself before he said anything stupid. He stretched out, draping himself over the arm of the chair toward the couch. He was a physical creature, that Sirius Black, and even without thinking he was moving towards Peter for contact. There was no sexual charge to it now, though. Curry press thingy.
"What kinda dreams? 'Bout me?" He had a sneaking suspicion that all dreams were, somehow, about himself. All the good ones, anyway.