His eyes move rapidly under his eyelids, on his forehead the sweat is starting to roll down his face, his hands open and close repeatedly. He is holding back.

To his mind, the source of such torment has a name, a face and a skin so pale that her hair almost shines in contrast. She's all red and white. She's all around, intoxicating him with her smell. The sight of her lustful red lips parted, the way he can imagine her buttocks smacking against his tights, her icy blue eyes watching as if she could devour him whole. He isn't sure he should doubt such capacity of hers. After all, Alice Morgan is not one to be underestimated, he should know that by now.

"John…" she mutters quietly on his ear and it fires him up.

He shouldn't, she used to be the enemy. It's past them, yes, but he is not ready. His subconscious might be, but he is not yet.

She kisses him, hard and deep. He kisses her back, hand grabbing her by the back of her neck, she's not close enough to his liking. He can feel her smiling.

He growls frustrated with himself, she shouldn't have that power over him. And still he is running his hands over her skin, bringing her closer and closer, holding her tight against him. He shouldn't want to make her lose her precious control, he shouldn't want to make her scream.

Perhaps he could surrender, after all, it's only a dream. By the time he was done, he should have gotten her out of his system. Right?

John Luther wakes up sweating, feeling as if he was just thrown on his own bed. He sits and studies his bedroom. No Alice to be seen, but he doesn't dare to look down his own lap.

Out of his system. Sure, why not? It was just a dream and it wouldn't happen again.

Right?