Pile of lemons ahead. I'm serious. Don't read it if you don't like sexual expression!

Contains a little bit of spoiler for "Universal Donor." I don't own it, I'm not making any money out of this.

"Sleep, Dream"

Jess is sleeping on the reasonably uncomfortable wardroom cot. After the horror, the terror of the day, she's been given a sedative to rest a bit more comfortably. This was after a bit of a debate with Swain, as she is already worried about the effect of the Rohypnol that she had been given earlier. "You'll be alright," he told her earlier, "you just need a night of sleep to heal and then some time at home. She agrees, asks when they expect to get back into port. "Should be by six tomorrow evening," Swain tells her. Okay. She can handle that. He continues "you were tough today, I'm proud of you, we all are." This makes her glow a little inside, no longer feeling like the silly nineteen year old girl she always worries the rest of them see her as. She accepts the quick injection, and falls blissfully asleep.

Three a.m. Swain's still awake. It's been a long day and he finds himself longing for a bit of sleep himself. He recalls that Dutchy's awake, doing a secondary watch. Goes to find him, is pleased to get an agreement to keep an eye on Jess for an hour so Swain can get a little sleep. "Just check that she's breathing deeply and sleeping okay," Swain tells his colleague, "and come get me in an hour." Dutchy agrees but knows he'll let his colleague at least get sleep till breakfast. It's been a long and horrible day. Dutchy grabs a book and settles in for the night.

An hour goes by, then two. Jess seems to be okay, she's flopped onto her back and breathing deeply. Dutchy finds himself getting a bit tired himself, but he's had a lot of training in keeping awake for long periods of time. Steels himself to manage. He checks Jess, finds that her breathing seems to be deeper, faster, she's moving about in her sleep. He wonders if this is a nightmare, but wants to be sure before waking her up. She looks so calm, so beautiful asleep, even with the fast breathing. She starts to mumble something, so he leans closer to hear. "Yes, please, yes" he hears. Then, to his shock, a moan, and his name "Dylan." Not Dutchy. His real name. At least he hopes it's his name and not some other lucky bastard named Dylan. His eyes widen as he realizes what's happening, the soft talking, the slight movement of her hips. Oh. Oh my god. He's never seen this before but knows that there are a lot of women lucky enough to have this happen to them. It's a woman's wet dream, so to speak, like he remembers himself having as a teenager.

She's about to climax in her sleep and, oh god he thinks, she's saying his name over and over. Suddenly her breath hitches, her hips jerk one last time, and her eyes fly open. She's awake. To feel it. Her breath is hard and, oh god again, she's looking right at him. Seconds go by. Perhaps ten or fifteen but it feels like a year as he stares at her with shock. Then she mumbles something else, flops around a bit, and then seems to go back to sleep. Now he's not sure what happened there. Did she really wake up? Sometimes a person's eyes can be wide open in her sleep, he's seen it before. Her breathing seems deep and normal. He suddenly realizes he's so damn turned on right now, he wants to crawl into the too-small bed with her, touch her, hold her, make love to her until he's damn good and sure it's his name she's saying. She sleeps peacefully till breakfast call at half past seven.

Or so he thinks. Dutchy was right the first time, it was his name she was calling and she was perfectly well awake and conscious of him being there looking at her. Ever since she started getting these type of dreams a few years back, she has taught herself to wake up right when the end hits. She figures, why not, as good as it feels, might as well be awake for it. But no one has ever seen her do this before, certainly not the exact man who's been haunting her dreams the last few months anyway. She just hopes he doesn't know what he saw and thinks it was some kind of nightmare. One thing's for sure, she isn't telling him. By the time she's awakened again, he's beat a hasty retreat for breakfast. She's a little horrified, hopes it wasn't because of her. Figures she can make it through the day and then take her five days of leave, by which point it'll all be forgotten.

The day goes by fast, and as scheduled, they make it in by six. She thanks everyone for the invite to the pub but feigns exhaustion from the sedatives and says she'll see everyone in five days. Her little flat is twenty minutes away by bike, so she makes her retreat home. She figures having an actual flat all to herself is a little extravagant, but it's not very expensive and is perfect just for her. It's a ground floor in a turn of the century conversion, maybe four hundred square feet with a little living room, kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom with what has to be the world's tiniest shower cubicle. Her upstairs neighbours are young women, just a few years older than her, all in graduate school. They're pretty cool, and she enjoys seeing them around. They also have a big orange tabby, named Marmalade, who comes round to visit her. She even put in her own cat flap and keeps cat food for him. It's nice because she can't have her own pet now due to the weird schedule, so Marmalade makes for a part time buddy.

Sure enough, she gets home, locks her bike in the communal shed in the little garden to the back, and finds Marmalade yowling a greeting. He mews and mews, happy to see her. She swears this cat knows when she's coming home. She pours him a bit of milk that she picked up at the corner store with eggs and a loaf of bread, then takes a long, boiler of a shower. The air conditioning has cooled the place down since she got in, so she puts on some cut off PJ pants and a tank top, grabs a hoodie, and goes to put the kettle on. She turns her television on, finds a documentary about Alaska that looks really interesting, then goes about to make a bit of tea. A knock at the door. She raises her eyebrows, checks, her watch, realizes it's almost nine in the evening. Then shrugs, figures one of the girls from upstairs heard her come in and is coming down to say hi, to see how she's doing. She opens the door, but instead of one of her mates from upstairs, she realizes there's a very tall, very blonde, and very broad shouldered person at the door. Dutchy. Dylan.

She's caught off guard, not sure what to say. Then blurts out (stupidly she thinks) "how'd you know where I live?" He shrugs, smiles, asks if he can come in for a minute. "Yes" she says, "of course." He seems to fill up her short futon. The kettle's done, so she calls to him to see if he wants tea or coffee. "Just water, please," he replies. She grins a bit and asks "need a bit of rehydrating after an evening in the pub?" "Nah," he says, "only had two beers and then left." "I wasn't in the mood for a bender of a night, and you know how it gets if you stay out with all of them for a long time." She laughs, agrees. Finishes making her tea, pours a glass from the fridge's filter jug, and brings both in the living room. "Uh, so, uhm," she says awkwardly. "Smooth move genius," she thinks to herself and then starts laughing a little. He smiles, asks "gonna let me in on the joke, or is it me you're laughing at?" She shakes her head smiling, says it's nothing, just a fit of being silly. Figures he'll believe that, she thinks he's always found her silly.

When she doesn't say anything else, he clears his throat and says "I just wanted to come by and check on how you're doing." "Oh," she says, "okay, sure." Suddenly into her head pops the image from very early this morning where her eyes flew open and she stared at him for what felt like forever. She starts blushing, obvious to him even in the flickering light of glaciers and mountain vistas on television. It's endearing, a little bit cute, and a whole fucking lot of sexy, he thinks. Then, out of nowhere she asks, "hey, you hungry?" "Uhm, yeah, I haven't had dinner yet," he says. "You want to order a delivery or something?" "Nah," she says, "I've got eggs, bread, milk, some bacon in the freezer." "You up for a little fry up?" she asks. "Perfect" he says. She goes into the kitchen, he follows shortly after, asking how he can help. She directs him where to find everything, and within ten minutes they're sharing a bunch of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. He teases her about putting ketchup on her eggs, "only little kids do that," he says. She suddenly looks a bit self conscious, back to the old worry that all everyone sees of her is a kid who's just become an adult in the last year and a half. They're on the sofa eating and he says "okay, I'm teasing you, I do it too," and grabs the bottle from her. She laughs, a little relieved.

They finish dinner, by which point the Alaska documentary has ended and there's a new one about underwater life in the Carribean. "Two places I've always wanted to see," she mentions, "Alaska and the islands in the Carribean." He agrees. He helps her with the dishes and pans, but finds there's little to do. She must have the only hankie-sized flat in town with it's own dishwasher. She doesn't believe in pre-rinsing. "So naughty," he says laughing, "putting that pan in like that." "Hey," she says, "no point in washing the dishes before getting them washed. Besides, you ought to see some of the stuff I've put in there, there are practically bones stuck to the plates." She snorts a little in laughter, he can't help but join. They flop back on the sofa, she pulls a duvet down from the back and wraps up. She offers it to him, seeing as how he's in just cargo shorts, flip flops, and a slim fitting t-shirt (that shows everything she thinks) but he refuses, saying he likes it nice and cool. They watch a little more television, and she nods off to sleep.

She feels herself breaking out of sleep, like a swimmer, slowly surfacing for air. She's really comfortable and warm, and realizes why. She's somehow found her head on a pillow in his lap. Thankful she hasn't managed to drool all over the pillow in front of him, she wakes up and turns to him. She realizes he's turned his head down to look at her, his eyes intense and burning. She thinks back to this morning (or would it be yesterday morning by now?) and wonders if that is what he's thinking. She sighs, rearranges her limbs a bit on her side facing his hard, flat stomach, and feels herself nod off again. Shortly after, she feels herself gathered up all at once, still covered in the duvet, and realizes he's taking her to the bedroom. He lays her on the double bed, smooths her hair back, and she realizes he's turned to leave. Before she realizes what she is saying, she says it. "Don't go." "Stay, please." He stops, his back stiffens in surprise, then turns around. "Okay," he says. She manages to get under the down comforter on the bed, as he takes the duvet back to the living room. He comes back, picks up the other side of the comforter, and climbs in.

They're both asleep in seconds. The day has been too long, the emotions of the day before too much. She sleeps, not a dream to be had.

The sun is starting to peek through the top of the blinds where they are dropped. She realizes how warm and comfortable her bed is, and sighs deeply. Her eyes open, and she realizes that in the night, she's rolled onto her side and he's come up behind her to hold her close. He's still sleeping she realizes, but feels a telltale bulge at her lower back that only makes her want to laugh again. Stop it, she tells herself, quit being such a child! Even with what little experience she's had, she knows that this is a normal part of life for men and it's got nothing to do with attraction. She sighs, slips back into sleep.

About an hour later she awakens to hear the shower going. She can't help but smile and wants to moan, thinking that he's behind that door, completely undressed, soaping up and wants to join him. She refrains though, tells herself to relax, he was just here as a friend when she needed one. The shower stops, then she hears the medicine cabinet open, then shut a minute later. Then she really starts to blush hard, remembering what was in there. She shakes her head, but calms down as she hears him brush his teeth with one of the still wrapped brushes from in there. She's almost back asleep when she feels a gentle touch on her head. "Wake up, sleepyhead, you're in the navy, you're not supposed to be capable of sleeping past sunrise," he says laughing. She growls a few swears that make him laugh harder. However by now she's awake, so she gets up. "C'mon, get a shower and dress," I know a place at the beach that makes a mean eggs Benedict. She feels her stomach snarl in agreement and so gets up. He goes to make coffee, she gets a shower. She dresses, khaki shorties and a dark purple spaghetti strap top with her best shaper bra under it. They head out on foot, talking and laughing. By the time they've had coffee and walk on toward the beach, she's calm again.

Early afternoon. A thunderstorm is definitely rolling in, so they head back. She expects him to leave, but he comes in with her. She goes to the bedroom, sits on the edge of the bed to brush out and rebraid her hair. When it's brushed out smooth, she starts. Suddenly, in the mirror, he is behind her, sitting on the bed. "Hey," he says smiling, "here, let me." She lets him and he expertly braids a long ponytail down her back. It's starting to rain outside, a little thunder. She hears Marmalade at the cat flap, but he goes for the kitchen for a snack. "So," she asks, "with that very short hair of yours, how'd you know how to braid?" "Easy," he says, "sailors know knots and a braid is just another kind of knot." He's smoothing her hair out with his big hands and she, without a further thought, leans back into his touch like a cat enjoying a stroking. He smiles, and starts to move his fingers to her shoulders, the back of her neck. She gasps, closes her eyes at the feelings this sends right to her centre.

His lips touch her neck, and she swears she almost climaxes at the feeling. "Hey," he says with his lips right at her sensitive ears, "tell me what happened yesterday morning." She reddens a bit, then shrugs, and figures he's not asking to give her a hard time. She tells him. "When I go a long time without, uhm, without an orgasm, uhm, like a week or two, then it seems like my body just steps in and does it for me." He nods, looking into her eyes in the mirror, waiting for her to continue. "I mean," she says, "I haven't had a, uhm, sexual partner in a little over two years." He looks surprised, so she continues. "Two years ago was my first time and it was kind of awful, both physically and emotionally." "So, I haven't tried it again." "But obviously I still have needs and I take care of them." She's blushing so hard her ears are turning red. The thunder is a little bit closer and louder now.

"Do you always talk and wake up?" he asks. "Oh," she says, "did I talk?" It seems impossible but she's more embarassed. "Yes," he says, "I heard the name 'Dylan' and all I could think is I sure hope that's not some other lucky bastard with my name." "No," she admits while smiling. The blush recedes but the rest of her skin is getting flushed. "And yes," she says, "I taught myself to wake up for it." "No reason to sleep through it." He scoots back on the bed and gets her to turn around and sit with her legs over his. "Do you know how hot that was?" he asks. "How much I wanted to get in that little bed with you and make damn sure you were saying my name?" "To touch you down low and feel the pulse of your muscles when you were dreaming and having a climax for me?" For him? Oh. Oh damn, that turns her on. Her breathing is hard, deep, and she can feel the wetness pooling. She takes the initiative and leans into him hard, mouth on his, kissing him deep and hard. His hands slide up her back, under her shirt, and he feels for the clasp. He lets it loose, then pulls the shirt over her head, bra and all. She grabs his shirt and pulls it off, enjoying the feel of smooth, hard muscle under her hands. The storm is so loud, right over them now.

Gently he takes her, lays her back, and tells her "I'll only do what you want me to. I don't want to push you, not after how you described the last experience." All she can feel now is the hot, wet, burning desire of a creature for its mate and she tells him just that. "No," she says, "I'm ready to fly and I want you to take me there." He moans into her mouth, kisses down her neck, stopping to admire her perfect breasts. She's all but bucking underneath him, so he kisses lower. Kisses around her navel, grinning at the little ring he didn't know was there till now. He unbuttons the khaki shorties, and pulls them down, chucking them on the floor to join his own shirt. She's wearing plain black cotton underwear that doesn't match the blue bra she was wearing. Somehow, he finds this more exciting and strangely endearing than times he's been with women who so obviously wore the matching set in the anticipation of them being seen.

He can feel, can smell the musk of wetness and excitement, can't wait any longer so he pulls the underwear away. And gasps at what he sees. He silently thanks whatever deity is out there that he's learned control over the years, because the sight of her completely shaved smooth and waiting for his touch would otherwise push him over the edge. He runs a tentative finger down either side before placing his lips gently right on the centre, just on the outside. She all but shouts at this, encouraging him to gently pull her apart and touch his tongue to the swollen tender flesh there, concentrating on the little pearl right at the top. He strokes his tongue over the center of her pleasure, listening to her cries and hearing his name over and over and over. He keeps working on her, pushes one finger inside and gently feels upward for the slightly rough spot a few inches in, He finds it, and strokes it gently while continuing with his tongue. This is all she can take. Suddenly she bucks hard, gasps his name, and he can feel the inner muscles twitching and pulling. He smiles and eases off a bit, guessing correctly that she'll be a little sensitive to touch for a few minutes while she recovers. The lightning is going in bright streaks followed within a second by thunder. All he can think is it can't match the passion they're feeling.

He moves up to her and delights that she seems happy to taste herself on his mouth and fingers. He is lying on his side with her facing him and she gently runs her fingers down his broad chest to his lean waist and down to what is clearly the hard bulging front of his cargoes. "I want to see," she says, "I want to touch, taste, feel too." He smiles as she pushes him on his back and kisses from his mouth down to the waistband of his cargoes. His shorts are off, and she can't help but laugh at the boxers he's wearing. They're black with little red chili peppers printed all over, clearly silk, with the top band embroidered "Muy Caliente." He can't help but laugh too, but that stops quickly as soon as she tosses his boxers on the floor. She is pleased at the sight, he is hard, long, thick, uncut. She wraps one of her hands around and gently tugs at his foreskin, pulls it back to expose him, and leans down to touch her mouth to him.

He groans with pleasure, feeling the hot, wet pressure of her mouth on him. However, he doesn't want it to end this way. "Baby," he says, "stop for a minute." She stops, her eyes full of concern she's done something wrong. "No, no, god no, I just want to ask if you'll let me be inside you." "Oh," she says, smiling, "yes, more than anything." "I did get an IUD just in the hope something like this would happen," she tells him, "so yes, I want to feel you." "Okay," he says, "I've got a little request." "Yes?" she asks him. "This morning, when I was getting out a toothbrush, I saw your waterproof vibrator in the cabinet. I also know that's not just a plain rubber duck in the shower," he says smiling, pleased to have found this out. She's amazed, figuring she ought to be horrified, but can only nod in agreement because she's so turned on. "I've got a regular one here in the bedside drawer," she says. "You, uhm, want to see me use it?" she asks. "More than anything," he says.

She grabs it out of the drawer, it's a rounded rubber thing with a cord and a control. "Show me what you do when you think of me," he tells her, "only this time I want it to be me inside you, not a toy." She takes the rounded end, turns it on to medium, uses her fingers to part her cleft, and touches it to the right spot. "Yes," he hisses, "yes, like that." Her legs seem to spread wide apart at his voice, as if he told her to, and he positions a pillow under her hips and gets on his knees between her legs. He is stroking himself too, waiting to enter her body. "This is what I do when you're on my mind," he tells her. "Every day I see you on the ship, I have to do it at night, in the shower, to keep myself sane around you." She gasps in pleasure and feels him gently, tentatively going to push the tip of himself inside her. The lightning outside is intense.

He pushes himself gently but firmly forward. She feels herself stretch to accommodate him, and all he can suddenly think is how beautifully, gorgeously tight she feels. He begins to move his hips slowly, back and forth, in sexy figure eights, watching her face, her eyes, to see what she enjoys. She seems to like the pressure of straight thrusts while keeping the vibrator on her little bundle of nerves. He can see, he knows, she's close, but she keeps getting there and then pushing back, enjoying the feeling. He smiles, knowing how good he's made her feel, and feels his heart so full it's like to burst.

He keeps moving for what feels like forever, first slowly then faster. "Oh please," he says, "please baby girl, please, let me see you come for me, right here, right now, good and hard." She makes a strangled noise and he feels her muscles clench and pull him tight, pushing him almost over the edge but not quite. She calms down, her breathing slows, so he stops to give her a second, holding himself inside of her. The vibrator is turned off, set aside. He pulls the pillow out from under her hips, leans forward, and puts his mouth on hers, his tongue in deep. Then it's all he can do to keep from thrusting so hard it would hurt. He feels it coming deep and hard, and shouts his joy to the ceiling. She feels the hot, wetness of him spurting inside and is so happy, so content, so pleasured she could cry. The lightning has moved farther on now, the thunder a gentle roar outside.

They lay together like that for a while, his face buried in her shoulder. He leans up, pulls back now that he's softened a bit, and puts his hands on either side of her face. "Jess," he says, "you're incredible, amazing, like no one and nothing I've ever experienced. She smiles, says his name, pulls him over to kiss her gently. The sun is setting outside, the thunderstorm has left a deep reddish purple haze in the sky that bleeds through the curtains. She continues to lay on her back while he cuddles up to her, a muscled arm around her midsection. "Thank you," she says to him, "that was the most amazing experience of my life. He smiles, cannot help but agree he feels the same. No other woman has come close, the combination of innocence and unrestrained sexuality he's never seen. Before he can stop himself he says it: "I think I love you Jess." She smiles, mischeviously, and tells him "I know." Then, before he can get a word in edgewise she kisses him and says, "I know I love you."

The world has gone quiet outside but the crickets, the passion ignited and burned, the lovers sleep a deep, healing sleep.

End.