Nightmares

He's in the woods, somewhere near Boston. He knows it because he's been there: there's a small lake somewhere in the surroundings to which his dad used to take him when he was a kid… when he still had his dad. It's dark, but not that much, somewhere between afternoon and closed night. He's alone, or at least that's what he thinks. There's a path between the trees and he decides to follow it. He's already in the woods at night, how much worse can it get if he follows the path, huh?

He's been walking for hours, following the path, and its pitch black, when he notices, he might not be alone. He feels eyes on him; scrutinizing, judgmental, predatory glares. He stops, turns, takes a look around, but there's no-one, no-one he can see, anyway. He keeps walking.

There's a clear. It's almost circular, and it looks like it's surrounded by a wall of trees. He walks towards its middle and looks at the sky. He can see the stars and the moon, which is somewhat reassuring. A noise at his left catches his attention.

There's something there, between a few trees and a bush. He can't see it clearly, but it looks like a mix of an insect and a reptile. And he doesn't like it.

The thing stares at him, and he stares back. They do it like they're rivals, matching, sizing each other. And then, when it's already too late, he wishes he hadn't done that; he wishes that, instead, he had run for the hills as soon as he saw the thing. Because now, it's not just one thing: they're tens, hundreds, all around him, looking at him like he was food. And there's nothing he can do, except, perhaps, scream.

Jimmy stares at the image the mirror reflects: his pale, sweaty skin; the shaky, fast breathing; the hair, a dark mess; the wide eyes with dark circles beneath them. It's killing him, again. And after three weeks, he feels his resolution fading, breaking.

He splashes water into his face again and tries to return his breathing and beating back to normal, an exercise he's been practicing since he was thirteen. He walks out of the bathroom, flicking the lights out and stops dead in his tracks. The lights are all out, and Jimmy can't help but draw a shaky breath in. He pretty much runs towards his bed and tries to think in something that isn't what crawls in the darkness, or the fact that he's twenty-five and can't deal with a fucking nightmare.

It had reached that particular moment he hated so much: Roberts was screaming. No, wait, scratch that: she was screeching*, and the high pitched sound was starting to give him a headache. It almost made him say yes and go cover the story she needed him to. Almost. Because there was no way he was going to do that and postpone that dinner for, what?, two, three more weeks? Thanks, but no.

"… and Anders is sick. And have I told you Hill had an accident?" She went on and on, and even though Ben replied a "yes, you have", she still went on, "she fell from some stairs and she's stuck in the hospital. Mason-" she stopped for a moment and took a deep breath, the man raising his eyebrow in suspicion. "Ben", she said with a sweet, almost pleading, voice, "Ben, I need you. You have to cover that story for me. Please, you're my last hope." Ben rolled his eyes while listening to her, then snorted and laughed rather uproariously when she finished talking. He didn't answer until he had completely calmed down.

"Roberts," he started, as sweet and pleading as she had said his name, "how long have I been working for you? And that includes my time as an errands boy." She grunted something, too low for him to know what she was saying, but it didn't mattered, he went on. "I love my job, you know that, but unlike you, I actually, amazingly enough, have a life beyond it. So, I don't give a damn about Rick and Megan not picking their phones, they could be having a date with each other for all I know. I don't care about Anders calling in sick and I do may care about Claire having an accident, but that's because she's a friend, not because she can't go to work because of that. Hey, it could be worse; you still have Alex and Weaver. This, is my day off. And if you consider I'm not just a journalist, but I'm also a writer, that is the weirdest of things. And I made plans. So, sorry, the Whitehouse could be in flames right now and I couldn't care less, and that's not even a lie." He concluded, and then hung up, not even giving his boss a chance to give him a piece of her mind. He sighed and closed his eyes.

Why was he still working for that crazy ass woman when he could perfectly live on his writing paycheck was a complete mystery, or, as Jimmy likes to put it, a clear sign that he was as crazy as Rogers was. He tossed the phone to one of the couches and then headed back to the kitchen to keep on working with the meat.

It wasn't until half an hour later, when dinner was almost ready, that he heard the front door being open. "Ben?" a male voice, slightly deeper than his, called from the entryway. "Kitchen", answered the blonde back. He heard the ruffling of fabric and then approaching steps. "How was traffic?" he asked when he considered the younger was close enough.

"Awful" Jimmy answered, closer than he expected. Ben turned around and found the man standing by the door, looking back at him. The brunette smirked, "I swear the people in this city have a death wish."

Ben smirked back, "and with you around, their wishes might as well come true."

Jimmy's smirk grew into a full smile as he walked his last steps towards the blonde and met him crushing his lips against the others. Over the years, kissing each other had turned into something of a hobby, in which they had both become rather good at. They pulled back, breathless and draped in each other's arms.

"How have you been?" asked the older, resting his forehead against Jimmy's.

"Fine. You?" was the reply.

"Better than you, or at least that's how it looks like" said Ben after a quick look at the young man, who grimaced. "You haven't been sleeping enough. How 'bout eating?"

"Pizzas and hamburguers. You're the cook, not me" replied Jimmy, tightening his hold around the other's body. A smile spread in his face. "Talking about it, it smells great, Ben."

The young journalist smiled. "Hopefully you'll like the taste as much as the smell" he said, squeezing the brunette's chest with his arms before releasing him and getting back to cooking.

Jimmy placed the dishes in the table and then took a seat in a stool, while fondly conversing* with Ben, about work and life, family and friends. It was relaxing, for Jimmy, to be with the other; in Ben's case, it was exciting to spend time with the younger. They felt right, they felt like they fit together; it was as if they were two matching pieces in a puzzle. It was a shame that they weren't truly dating or such. Ben still had hope, though.

Once they finished eating, they moved on to the large black leather couch in the living room, dirty dishes in the sink – they could wait for another hour, or day –, and after getting settled, resting one against the other, they decided to watch some random movie – which turned out to be Monsters, Inc., the only thing worth watching, according to the younger.

They were halfway through the movie, when Jimmy felt the blonde's hand resting in his left thigh. He smirked and looked at the appendage, thumb drawing circles against the jeans. "You know we're watching a kid's movie, right?"

"Right", answered the older, looking at him with a grin. Suddenly, it was settled. Their clothes wouldn't last on for much longer.

Having sex with each other was one of the most precious and satisfying experiences both of them had ever had. It was pleasure and lust, yet tender and somewhat loving. They kissed and touched, and none of them really cared about who topped. It was the closest thing to make love they'd ever done, if it wasn't exactly that.

Ben slowly pulled Jimmy's trousers down and off his pale legs, while kissing the younger's heaving chest. Pants off, the blonde pulled away, admiring the other's lean, pale body. Jimmy had his eyes closed and was trying to catch his breath. Now, that's something Ben wouldn't let happen. The older leaned again, rubbing their clothed erections together, which caused the brunette's breath to catch in his throat.

"Ben" half moaned half whined the young man underneath him. They were panting and rock hard. Ben made his mind. He would've waited; he would've prolonged this moment, the pleasure and the pain. He would've played, do it the long way. But that's not what they want. After almost three weeks, that's not what they need.

The blonde leaned even closer, catching flushed lips in his, a breathtaking kiss.

Jimmy woke up to the reassuring weight of Ben's body against his back. He was sore and tired, but the good kind. They'd barely had a couple of hours of sleep and, in a few more hours, they'd have to go to their respective jobs. It was a bitter thought: Jimmy wanted nothing but to stay there, with Ben, for the whole day. The brunette rubbed his eyes with the back of his right hand and glanced at the clock in the bed table. A few minutes after six; they had about hour and a half before getting up.

Ben started to move on his back, stretching then folding arms and such. He suddenly growled and hid his face against the crook of Jimmy's neck. He whispered something resembling to "good morning", and the younger returned the gesture, running his left hand along the blonde's bare leg. He could feel Ben's soft cock against his buttocks; he smiled.

"There's something I wanted to ask you", said Ben after a moment of comfortable silence. Jimmy frowned; Ben wasn't one to start conversation like that. The older his arms around his waist and breathe deeply.

"What is it?" asked the brunette, reaching one of the other's hands and somewhat clutching at it.

Silence.

"Why are you here?"

Jimmy's not sure what the journalist is talking about, which makes his frown deepen. "What do you mean?"

"Why are you here, Jimmy?" Ben sighed and pulled his face away from the man's neck, staring – as much as he can stare in this position – at him. "We've been doing this for almost five years, this on and off kind of thing."

"Are you going to tell me-"

"'I'm not going to tell you anything" interrupted Ben. "I just want to know. Why are you doing this? You could just date, you know? Cute, smart, nice, good in bed and what not. You could date. Even I have during these years." He stopped talking, but Jimmy knew he wasn't done, he was just picking words. "I'm just... curious. I don't know what to think about it. Tell me Jimmy, why do you do it?"

"Because..." Jimmy whispers. "Because you make the nightmares go away" Jimmy thinks. But he can't say that; Ben would ask questions then, asking for details, and he can't deal with that – not now, probably not ever. Jimmy close his eyes and thinks of the closest explanaition possible. But it's hard, because he knows why, probably the most important reason – yes, more important than the nightmares – and he can't bring himself to say it either, he's no ready for that one either. So, he decides to go for something as simple and true as "Because here's were I want to be."

A/N: soooo... second fic here. Nice. Any comment - either constructive, or destructive - is happily welcome. And for those two comments in my other story, thank you - although one of them said that the reader understud nothing, but still -, it's so nice to get feedback c:

A small comment. Were I wrote "closed night", I'm not sure if I got it right. In spanish - my mother tongue - it's said "noche cerrada", which would a point in the night were it's really dark, or a very dark night. If it's wrong and/or there's another way to say it, please let me know. Any other mistakes, let me know too. I'm good at english, but it's not my first language, nor I'm that good. Thanks. Au Revoir!