I've had three dreams featuring Stephen King. I remember details of only two of them, but all three were nice dreams. In one he and I were walking along. I don't know where we were; on a beach or sidewalk. The only view of him was chest up as he talked to me. The sun was bright next his head, and, though his face was difficult to see, I could see that he was smiling. He was wearing a short-sleeved, light blue, light weight, button down shirt. I remember no sense of what we were talking about. Afterward, I was impressed that my first dream of sK was so entirely non-scary.
In the second dream, we were in a room; all, I'm somehow inclined to write, of "us" were in a room. There was a party-like atmosphere; we were celebrating, but no occasion other than being CRs. sK came in, walking down a set of concrete stairs (the place had walls of stacked concrete blocks, like one of Frank Lloyd Wright's prefab homes), chosing to recline in a stainless steel and black leather lounge chair, which faced away, party-ward, from a fireplace separated from him by a few miscellaneous pieces of gray upholstered furniture. He was wearing a broad smile, his horned-rims, a pair of gray jeans, and a gray T-shirt which had on its front a logo stenciled in black. Everyone was talking, including him, and the party became more festive.