Into the Night

by SilverArtemisKO

[Based on the Netflix series, not the graphic novels] Sexy encounter with mysterious Morpheous on earth (set between ep 6 and 7). Buildup of intrigue and connection, eventual smut. Single chapter for now, but might write another (smut) depending on response.

'…which obviously means he was always meant to acquire the stone, from the very moment he was born!'

'Oh, you, you are all alike! You would do Olympic-level mental gymnastics to draw connections that just aren't there! Just admit it- your darling author resorted to good old deux-ex-machina to resolve the biggest conflict in his biggest series.'

'Oh, oh, PLEASE…'

'Excuse me', I say, trying to move past the two arguing men. It's hard, considering they're both very, uh, physical talkers. Hands are wildly gesticulating, feet are stomping, spittle is flying. Worse- they're starting to draw a small crowd. No doubt others will start pitching in soon. Then it will become a real shitshow. I sigh. This argument is as old as the popularity of the series, and yet it never stops getting chewed on. This is the downside of coming to these things.

The hotel, while not exactly seedy, is just the bare minimum necessary to hold meetups like this. The hall room is small, the carpet just a step above from threadbare, the chairs uncomfortable, the aircon barely works and when it does it is loud. None of that bothers me when the evening goes nicely though. But tonight's meetup wasn't great. The discussion was boring, the two short stories that were read didn't hold my attention, and no one was wearing any interesting costume. The only good thing was the artwork display, and that took only about ten minutes to look at.

I finally get past the arguing crowd and walk towards the flash bar that has been set up along the far wall. That's going to have to be the other good thing tonight. I shake my head as I go, using the movement of my neck and my hands to bring my hair over my shoulder to one side. As nice as I know the thick, red waves looked flowing down my back, it's just too hot in here now. The air on my neck feels wonderful. I walk, snippets of thoughts occurring to me, as they do- the argument hasn't gotten loud yet, but give it time, that's just what we need, getting banned from another hotel… this dress was DIY, but it still looks good, right? I think?... what will I order at the bar? Hmm… something has shifted.

My feet slow. 'Something has shifted?' What has shifted? Even as I think it, I realize I feel a change in the air. Something. I can't put my finger on it. Is it the temperature? A new smell? I wonder, and that's when I see him.

He is sitting on a stool at the bar, looking like every young-adult-romance-novel-bad-boy trope I'd ever read back in the day. Dressed in all black, shoulders hunched in a brood, a moody air around him. And complete with the killer jawline- I think as I get close. I didn't think in real life people actually thought someone's hair was 'as dark as the night' or their eyes were 'like twin sapphires', but these occur to me nonetheless as I reach the bar and get a good look at his face. Yikes, I may have internalized more of those books that I thought.

I pull up a stool and sit- not exactly next to him, but near. There is no one else between us. But he doesn't look at me.

'Hey, Jake', I smile at the bartender. It's always his company that brings the portable bar to these meetups, and I've met him a few times before.

He smiles back, 'Hey. What will it be?'

'Hmm', I frown, not having decided on anything yet. Then I shrug, and say, 'Surprise me.'

He nods, 'I will.', He looks at the black-clad guy next to me. 'You?'

He starts to shake his head, then pauses. Then he sits up a little straighter, and says, 'Surprise me as well.'

Now I sit up a little straighter. Ho-ly-FUCK. That voice. Okay, I know I was thinking ridiculous things about his looks, phrases from cheesy novels getting stuck in my head and whatnot, and I can laugh it off. But his voice- there's no joke here. It's insanely… rich. Smokey. With a hint of a rough edge. But still smooth. Like folds of black velvet.

I have this weird thing. When I experience something beautiful- be it art, music, literature, good weather, a voice- I feel like I want to taste it. It's a yearning, almost. Like my mouth, my tongue wants to feel whatever the other senses are feeling. Yeah, it's weird. But I'm getting that now. The yearning to taste his voice, in my mouth. But you can't taste a voice.

You can kiss him, though. That might be something close.

Whoa. WHOA, WHOAAAA! I shake myself slightly. Okay, I need to snap out of whatever this is.

Jake brings me my drink. It's a light amber color. I take a hurried sip. It's delicious.

'Wow.', I ask Jake, 'What is it?'

He puts his forefinger on his lips, 'Knowing too much ruins the surprise, don't you think?'

I laugh, 'Yeah. Thanks, anyway. This is great.'

He nods and walks away, leaving me alone with Mr. Broody. I watch him take a small sip of his drink. His face shows nothing- no reaction. He sets down the glass.

Is he going to leave?

'Not surprised?', I ask, before I can stop myself. I just want to hear that voice again, I realize.

He looks at me. Gives a small shake of his head. 'No.'

'Ouch', I glance over to see if Jake was around to hear that.

He follows my eyes, then says, 'It is not his fault. I know how he thinks. He could not have surprised me.'

'You do?', I frown, looking at him. 'Do you know Jake?'

'After a fashion.' He eyes me. 'You are dressed unusually for this time period.' His eyes sweep over the room. Men and women in fantasy, horror, sci-fi costumes milling around, talking, lounging in chairs. In the middle of the argument crowd, someone seems to be giving a speech. 'Everyone is dressed unusually.' He looks at me again, 'What is this place?'

'I'… I was going to answer, but the full intensity of his stare makes me stumble over my word. This man really is striking, and it's not just because he has a nice face or gorgeous eyes or good bone structure or whatever. He is deathly pale. His raven-black hair is just a little too wild to be considered artfully mussy. His face is lean and smooth, no lines showing history of a lived time. But still his heavy-lidded blue eyes are alive with a quiet power. Among all this, the soft, pouty lips are unexpected somehow. The whole effect is one of agelessness. I couldn't tell if the guy was twenty or thirty or forty.

I clear my throat, 'This, uhm. This is a nerd meetup. You didn't know? Are you a guest at the hotel?' I stop myself from saying, 'You're not supposed to be here if you are.', because I… I don't want him to go. Not yet.

'A 'nerd meetup'?', he says the words slowly, as if unfamiliar with them. 'What is that?'

I laugh. 'Like-minded people meet monthly to talk about the nerdy stuff they love. Comic and sci-fi, classic lit and modern fantasies, mythologies and movies. There are discussions, readings, you can display your artwork, sell it even, if you're good. Trade merch.'

'Merch?'

'Merchandise.' I cock my head, 'Doesn't seem to be your crowd, eh? How did you end up here?'

'Ancient tales are alive here tonight. I felt the pull.'

I stare at him. Doesn't look like he's joking. Does he really talk like this? 'And?', I ask.

'And, I have been observing recently. Observing. Mingling.', he looks like this word leaves a slightly unpleasant taste in his mouth, 'Learning. I have… I have yet to learn some things. Or re-learn. Remind myself.'

Ooooookay.

So, at these meetups, you meet all sorts. Some of us here have a fuller life outside of our love for this stuff, but others are more immersed. They love fantasies, and they live their lives as if they are in fantasies- closet full of robes and head full of dreamscapes where they are the hero. There are others who come here to escape life. As soon as they've walked in here, they're playing a role, being someone they could never be in the outside world. And still there are others who are just pretentious, desperate to prove themselves different.

Thing is, this man seems like none of the above. There is a particular way he speaks- very precise and deliberate, and it doesn't sound fake. It sounds… powerful somehow. Powerful, and inevitable. Like he was meant to say these exact words at this exact moment, and it had been decided before even the universe was born.

I take a sip of my drink. I'm not sure if I should be talking to this man anymore. I mean, maybe I only think all these things about his eternal-type quality because he's sexy (Yeah, he is. I have to admit that to myself). Maybe if this was a sweaty middle-aged guy in a thigh-length toga and balding head, I would be walking away right now, deciding that he's insane. But I can't shake what I feel, that there's something about this man. And I'm intrigued.

I'm about to introduce myself when he says, 'Who are you?' He has slightly angled his body towards me, and I am suddenly distracted by the pale, smooth sliver of his throat between the high coat collars. That yearning in my mouth, my tongue, again.

Blinking, I open my mouth to tell him my name, then realize he's eyeing my flowy white dress slashed semi-daringly at the thighs, my tiara and waistband made in an intricate gold leaf-and-branches pattern, my golden boots.

'I'm supposed to be Athene', I say, 'The Greek goddess of war strategy and wisdom? I guess you can't really tell without the props.' I gesture to the general direction of the chair I was sitting on earlier, where I'd set down the spear and the shield with an etched owl on it. 'But they're too clunky to carry around all evening.'

The corner of his mouth pulls up in a small smile as he takes in my look. 'I believe she would be… amused by your rendition.'

Amused? It stings a little bit. 'Why?', I ask.

A very slight shrug of one slim shoulder, 'Just humankinds' ability to see one story, one character, in a thousand of ways, throughout centuries.'

Huh. That's an interesting way of looking at it, actually.

'Who are you?', I ask.

'I am Dream.', he says simply.

I stare. 'Is that your name?'

'Yes.'

I mean, okay, I guess? Names are names, and I know a girl called Envy, a boy called Trigger, and my friend who is a kindergarten teacher just told me the other day there are not one, but two Daenerys' in her class, so who am I to question anything?

'Nice to meet you' is what I'm about to say, but his attention has shifted. The crowd has finally broken into the loud argument I was fearing. The voices are rising and so is the frustration- it doesn't seem like anyone can even tell what the others are saying anymore. A couple of people are trying to break it off, but most who are not taking part are just standing around and watching.

'Why do human beings get so attached?', Dream asks. It sounds like a rhetorical question that was not asked to me, but I answer anyway- 'That's what makes us human, don't you think?'

He turns to me. 'I understand that. Human society could not function without attachment to each other. But this-' he gestures, 'attachment to stories? Stories are mirrors for humans to see themselves. To get this attached is so… narcissistic. Do you not see that?'

His blue gaze bores into mine, and suddenly my throat feels dry. This is the first time he has said so many sentences in one go. He is quiet now, but the deep voice still feels coiled in the air between us somehow, making it thrum with an unknown energy. I can tell when a man is interested in me like most women can, and I can also tell Dream is not, not that way, not right now. He is not trying anything, he's just talking. But this man… this man can't 'just talk', I realize. He is not capable of that. Every time he looks at me it feels like he's seeing me more intimately that any other person ever has, every word he speaks to me feels seductive.

I swallow, then try to answer his question, to match his eloquence. 'Yes, I suppose you could say that. But stories are not just mirrors. They're umbrellas, too. Or blankets.' Jake reappears, and I am thankful. 'Can I have some water?' I ask him. He brings me a glass, and I take a long drink.

Dream is looking at me. 'Explain', he says. It sounds like a command in a strange way. I can imagine feeling patronized if this was any other person here. But with him, it fits seamlessly. Feels inevitable. And I oblige.

'We relate to stories, yes. We want to see ourselves in them. But don't you see, we also want to see everyone else? Stories and ideas are bigger than one person, one human individual. They bring us together. And I'm not even talking about religions, and institutions, and such- that these systems work just because everyone has subscribed to believing in them, these ideas about God existing and money being valuable and whatnot. I'm talking about feelings.'

'Feelings?' Dream asks, and this time I almost don't get distracted by him, having found my footing in the conversation. The argument in the room can be longer called that, it's pretty much a crowd fighting now. At least it seems like things haven't gotten physical yet, but it is pretty loud. I don't want to keep shouting over it, so I hop off my stool, pull it closer to Dream, and hop on again. Maybe I didn't need to be this close. Maybe I don't care.

'You know, I went to see a very popular movie last year, very hyped. I wasn't into it, had never been into that fandom, but I did go with my friends. It was the finale of the franchise, lots of excitement, and I was just like, 'Eh, I don't get it, these movies are not that good.' But then I sat in the theater and saw the movie, but I also felt the other people in there, you know? The gasps, the laughs, the groans and yells in tandem. The excited breathing of the girl beside me, the scream of the man in front of me. I went into this as a grumbly cynic, but by the time the final battle on the screen rolled around, with music swelling in the dark theater, everyone rooting for the Good Guys, I was one of them, every one person who came to see this story unfold. I felt one with them. It really was no longer about just the movie. It was a human experience, sharing something bigger, feeling something bigger, being part of something larger, together. The story was a fake fantasy, but the feelings were real.'

I stop, gulping in some more water. Huh, that got way more elaborate than I thought it would. But I still I want to finish making my point. 'We exited the theater, and these strangers who watched the movie with me, they felt like less than strangers. The tears I saw as I walked away, the laughter, the excited babbling, and the heated complaints. All of that I related to. I felt a kinship to my fellow humans. And I went home a little happier, with a heart a little fuller. That's what stories are about. That's what gets us attached.'

Dream is quiet, looking at me. I really did pull too close. Our knees are almost touching. But the subtle change I feel in the air between us is not because of that. I feel like he's looking at me now, for the first time. Not just a person who sat down beside him and started talking tonight. Me.

It can't have been for more than a few seconds we made direct, unwavering eye contact, but it feels longer. And it does something to me. Traces of an electric hum in my nerves, a heaviness in my breathing, a pull like gravity in my heart. I feel part of another world suddenly, like I'm not even here, in this hotel, in this room, in my ridiculous white dress and golden boots, with men and women shouting just twelve feet away. I feel like I'm with Dream, and that's where the matter begins, and that's where the matter ends.

What is happening to me?

Dream says, 'I have always known about stories. They form part of my realm. But this is…', he nods slightly, as if acknowledging some contribution I made, 'something to think about.'

'Realm?', my voice sounds to weak to me, 'Is that, like, your formal synonym for expertise or something?'

He doesn't answer. It looks like he has settled down to think immediately, looking at the fake-wood bar counter, small lines on his forehead, dark brows furrowed.

Someone from the hotel has finally arrived, thank God. The man looks small and harried, but he apparently knows how to exert his authority because I see the fight beginning to break up. The bar is about to get crowded, no doubt.

I look at Dream. He hasn't dressed polished, talked particularly smooth, or done anything remotely edgy, but he feels incredibly sexy, and dangerous. Normally, I am not attracted to that- the dangerous part anyway. And I'm way more wary with strangers. But he doesn't fall into a type, he's not anything anyone could've planned for. I just know these things, just as I know what the knot gathering low in my abdomen means. My palm tingles as I imagine running it over his smooth, sharp jaw, pressing onto his swollen bottom lip with my thumb. I imagine tracing my fingers on his throat, touching my lips on the soft flesh there. I feel my breath catch.

Oh, God. This is getting way out of hand.

I don't have anyone permanent in my life right now, but I date. I know my way around the scene. I know how to talk to a guy, how to build that chemistry if the seed is there. And if this was just any guy, I might have made a move. Lean in more, touch his arm, chew on my full lips as I listened to him. But I don't even consider any of it. Even his aloof air aside, this is not just any guy, and I know I can do none of those superficial things with him and expect him to respond. A yearning blooms inside my chest, almost instantly morphing into something painful.

I want him, and badly.

More people are sitting down at the bar. I hear chattering all around. I know quite a lot of people who are here right now, and soon anyone might walk up and start a chat. I don't want that. I want to be with Dream.

'Do you want to get out of here?', I ask him.

This is a stranger, I tell myself. You know nothing about him. What are you doing?

Dream turns his head towards me, 'Yes.' He stands up. 'You have made your argument, but I have found the flaw in it. Nonetheless, it has been an interesting conversation, and made me contemplate. Thank you.'

He begins to walk away.

My jaw drops.

What?

'Wait!', I call, my voice just a little strangled. 'What flaw? And,' my eyes fall on his unfinished drink, 'what, you aren't even going to pay for that?'

He stops and looks at the drink, frowning. 'Money?'

'Yes, money!', I say, incredulous. 'And you were really just going to walk away and not tell me what you mean by quote unquote 'the flaw in my argument'?' I hop off my stool, pull out some cash from the small golden purse attached to my waistband, and set it on the counter. 'Okay, the drink is on me. The explanation on you.' I meet his eyes, one hand on my waist, challenging him to leave, willing him not to.

He doesn't take any more steps, so I go collect my props, and stand in front of him. 'Okay, where are we going?'

'We', he says, 'are not going anywhere…', he trails off. He's checking me out, I realize with a small jolt. We were both sitting down or moving until now, this is the first time we're standing to our full heights before each other. And just as I take in his tall frame, lithe limbs and his magnetic aura of power, I feel him glancing over my face, my exposed collarbones, narrow waist (well, narrow-ish), and long (sigh, -ish) legs. It doesn't make me feel icky, the way he does it. Just appreciated. And I can tell he's not fixating on my body parts. He's taking in the whole effect.

I can also tell that it pleases him somehow.

'Why did you choose Athene?', he asks me.

'She seemed badass.'

He frowns. 'What does that mean?'

It really sounds like he doesn't know what 'badass' means, but I try not to take it literally. 'You know, smart, hands-on or hands-off at exactly the right times, fearless. Never bothering with drama, or men.'

That hint of a smile again, slightly mocking now. 'You do not bother with men?'

Oh, shit. We're doing this now? Right here? We're in the middle of the hotel hall room. There are people all around. Strangely, though, no one seems to notice him, or by extension, me.

So be it. I walk towards him until my breasts are almost touching his chest.

'Sometimes they're worth it.', I say.

Dream doesn't move, and I feel my heartrate spike. Not taking my eyes off his, I let go of the Athene shield in my right hand, letting it fall on the carpet. Then I reach out and lightly brush his hand with my fingers.

Our touch is immediately electric- there's no other way I can put it. I feel the charge with my whole body, and I can see that he feels it too. For the first time this evening, I feel tension in him- the kind I've been feeling. His eyes darken, lips parting slightly. For an insane millisecond, I feel like I would give my life to taste those lips.

Dreams eyes close for a moment, giving me a breathtaking view of thick, dark eyelashes over pale skin. Then he opens them, and takes a couple of steps back. He looks mad, and slightly confused.

'This has continued for more than is advisable. I must leave.'

He turns around and walks away. My jaw hangs open. What has continued? Whose advise? I've met moody people, even bipolar people, but this is on a whole different level. What's worse, I instinctively know that he's not playing games or purposefully being difficult. He's actually torn.

Which is why I do what I wouldn't do for a random man playing hard to get- I chase after him. This feels bigger than me, bigger than just an everyday chance encounter. And I want to see it through.

But by the time I pick up my shield and look up, he has disappeared. I run out of the hall, look around. He's nowhere to be seen. This is not my first time in this hotel, and I know there is a side door from the hall leading to a back alley. He seemed headed that way, so that's where I go too.

The night air is a shock on my exposed neck and arms, but I don't pay attention. Looking both ways in the alley, taking a few steps in both directions, I can't see Dream. It feels like a physical blow, this absence. 'Dream!' I call, half desperate, 'Are you here?'

'Why did you come after me?', he says right behind my ear, and I jump, whirling around.

'Where the hell did you come from?'

'I was here', he says, unwavering, even thought that very clearly can't be true. 'What do you want?'

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, to practice some semblance of control in this bewildering situation.

'I want to know', I say, 'what the flaw in my argument is.'

'Do you.' It's a comment, not a question.

'Yes', I square my shoulder, surprised at the hidden undercurrent of antagonism in his words.

'Listen, then' He is close to me, his eyes look hooded and dark in the dim orange glow of the single hotel bulb outside the door, only a two pupils glinting. 'Humans would hide behind stories, and let everything fall to ruin. You talk of sharing a bigger thing, sharing experiences, but you do not, do you? Share? Your people go hungry, thirsty, get killed, go through planet-level crisis, but do you come together? Show compassion? Lift each other? No. Everything burns, and you bury your face in the sand, obsessing over made-up worlds, seeking connections through there. You cannot connect with each other where it matters, where it is honest, necessary. You want to see other people in stories, but they only matter when it makes you feel good, and no more past that. That is the flaw. Stories are blankets, but not to gather you together, but to hide under there.'

A minute ago, I could not imagine this getting so brutal. But it just did, and I am speechless. What do you say to that?

He moves slightly. I know he is about to do it again- walk away- and I feel a sudden spike of anger. 'That's not fair.' I say, setting my props down near my feet.

'What isn't?', he sounds bored.

'Everything you just said. You… you would have humans, like, all of humanity, being picture perfect, would you? I perfectly harmonious collective organism, or whatever? Well, guess what? It's not possible. That's not how we evolved. We multiplied fast, spreading all over the earth, and for so long we didn't know what we were doing, maybe we still don't know. There is good, and there is bad. There will always be mistakes, violence, evil. But you can't judge us only on that scale. Did you look around today? All these people came to talk about stories they love. In doing so, they made each other happy. Made this evening mean something. They're not talking about their dead father, abusive partner, son in a war, lost dog in there, but when they deal with those things, this extra bit of meaning, of happiness, will help. They're not solving for world peace, but every single soul in there might have a lighter heart after sharing whatever they came to share today.'

I stop, realizing I raised my voice quite bit. Dream is looking at me intently.

'You were passionate.', he notes drily, not saying I was right. But I can also hear a hint of respect in his voice.

'No shit.', I give out a half-laugh, absorbing the unreality of this situation. Me in a narrow semi-dark alley, standing with a stranger who's got me heated in every sense of the word, defending humankind, of all things. 'You never felt this?'

'Felt what?', he asks.

'The connection? Forget stories, you never sat down with a friend and had an honest conversation that makes you feel like even though nothing is solved, everything might just turn out okay?'

He hesitates. 'I suppose I have. Had conversations with a friend.'

'What did you think then?'

'I thought... I thought if you appreciate it, life will be endlessly giving to a human.'

'Exactly! And it's in the small things that it gives. You don't always have to beeline to the large-scale-disaster-species aspect of us.'

He sighs softly. 'Maybe'. Then something occurs to him, and he says, 'But honest conversations, even in small scales, are rarer, as I understand.'

He's not wrong about that. Everywhere I see people getting more cynical, and isolated, and divided. I can't argue with that, and I don't. Instead, I say, 'I haven't spoken to my mother in a decade.'

I register the surprise on his face. He didn't expect me to spit out personal information just to prove a point. But that's not what I am doing, not really.

'She is an alcoholic. She was passed out on the couch when my father had his heart attack upstairs, calling for her, for help. He died. She drank more. I didn't even exist. I guess I still don't. She's never reached out. Not that I want her to.'

I swallow. 'I don't have money. Had to put myself through hell to finish my degree- three part time jobs and schoolwork... I'm almost done. You'd think maybe English Lit, from all my talk about stories, but Economics, actually. I am good at it. But I don't particularly like it. I don't know what I will do, what I really want. I have to decide on something soon, because I'm still barely making ends meet, loans aside. For this dress, I pretty much cut-and-pasted a thrift store bedsheet together, can you believe that? And I still feel guilty about the money I splurged on the props. A splurge for me anyway. But it makes me happy, dressing up.' I laugh under my breath. 'I have friends, but I don't know if we're going to be friends five years from now. Everyone and everything in my life has been so… temporary.'

I take a step towards Dream, take one of his hands between two of mine. He goes slightly rigid, but he doesn't pull away. 'Listen.', I say evenly. 'I don't know who you are, where you came from. And you don't need to know any of those things about me. But you talked about honest conversations, and you are right, we don't have them too much. We don't say what we feel. But then sometimes you meet someone, someone rare, and suddenly you want to. You want to open up. So, I am.' I take a deep breath. 'When I first saw you tonight, I felt intrigued. You are mesmerizing, the whole of you. Maybe you have this effect on everyone, I don't know. But I have never felt this way before. And now, a couple hours later, I feel more.' I edge closer to him. 'You make want to know you. Make me see images in my head, like a… a dream, but sharp and vivid. Thunder, lightning, wind, rain, storm outside, warmth and flickering flames inside. Shadows dancing on the wall, the smell of the hardwood floor. Uh..us on the fireside. Silk sheets. Tangled limbs.'

I hear my own voice, and I can't believe it, the things I am saying. All of it is absolutely insane. All of it is absolutely true.

Dream is still like a statue before me, and in his eyes, in his face, I see something. Hunger? Confusion? Regret? It's all in a flicker, there and gone. He takes an audible breath, shuddering slightly, and I feel that this is the most visceral he has been the whole evening. That he's pushing something deep down. He takes a step back.

'This', his voice, wrapped in its rich timbre, is low and just a bit husky, and it sends shivers down my spine, 'is admirable of you. You have been very honest. And you have surprised me.' It sounds like he's not just believed me, he actually knows that I have been honest. 'For this, I will…'

I can't take it anymore. I know what I want, and I'm not someone who waits for things to happen to them. So, I walk up to Dream, pull him by the collars of his coat, and kiss him.

I immediately feel his shock. His whole body stiffens, his hands jerking. I take his lips between mine, a groan getting stuck in the back of my throat- impossibly, they're even softer than they look. I trace my tongue over them, one of my hands around his shoulder, the other finding his way into his hair. His lips part just slightly, and I kiss each of those individually, brushing, tasting, biting. I feel one of his hands round my waist, loose, yet not letting go. I snake my arm tighter around his neck, and move my wet mouth along his jaw. His head falls back slightly. I trace kisses along his throat, then bite there softly. That's when he gives in.

I feel his hand snaking stronger around my waist, the other one drowning in my hair as he pulls my mouth back to him, kissing me with a sudden desperate hunger that makes fireworks explode on all my nerve endings. I gasp, slipping my hands under his coat. His chest is hard and sinewy, and one of my palms find its way under the t-shirt, touching, exploring, going to his back. His mouth devours mine, then goes all over my cheeks, chin, jaw, as if trying to taste every inch of skin. One of his hands cups my breast over the dress, presses his thumb on the nipple. I moan, frustrated, layers of clothes getting in the way. My stomach is turning to jelly, a fire gathering underneath that. Against my skin there, I feel his hard bulge. I press onto it, moving one of my thighs to brush against it.

A low, deep growl escapes him as he shoves me against the wall. My shoulder strap slipped, he pulls down the side of my dress, my bra, exposing my breast. Then his hot mouth is on there, his teeth, his tongue. My back arches in exquisite pleasure as he sucks on my nipple. I can't take it for too long, and I pull up his face again, kissing him. Then we come up for air, and our eyes meet. He goes still.

We're looking at each other, his blue eyes into my hazel, and I feel him struggling right now, I clearly feel it. He roughly pushes me away, takes steps back, closes his eyes. Breathes. Once, twice. Three and four times. He opens his eyes again. His body is shaking imperceptibly with held-in tension, and I can only imagine the effort this sudden bottling is taking him. But his face is now calm.

'We cannot do this.', he says.

I still feel there isn't enough air in my lungs. I stand unsteadily, adjusting my dress, my whole body on fire. 'We did', I say, voice trembling.

His jaw muscles tighten, 'We should not have. I should not have.' He sighs, but is also calmer every second. 'I cannot.'

At this moment, it's impossible to think I'll ever feel calm again. I look at him, every instinct in my body telling me to run to him and take his mouth into mine again. But when your partner, in crystal clear terms, is telling you 'no', there is only one right thing to do.

Stop.

I don't ask why. He must have his reasons, and he'd tell me already if he could. It's not usual, but nothing about this was. I take deep breaths, relaxing my shoulders, straightening my clothes, untangling my hair. 'Well', I say, 'That was nice anyway. Thank you.'

Dream laughs, actually laughs, and I laugh too, because, after all that, after my thigh on his dick and my nipple in his mouth, am I really saying 'thank you' right now? God, that's dumb!

But dumb is good. Uncomplicated.

'Athene would also be flattered that you are portraying her', Dream says quietly, with a slight emphasis on 'you'.

I smile. 'Okay, this 'thank you' is real.'

'And in your mother, she feels guilty, but is paralyzed with fear that if she apologizes you will not accept it. She dreams of forgiveness. You can give her that, if you want.'

I almost get whiplash from the turn of the conversation. 'Wh…what? How would you know?'

'I know', he puts his hands in his coat pocket. 'I must go. Good wishes, Audrey Silver. You will soon know what you want.'

I know he's talking about my life, career, and those other stuff that sounds so insignificant at this moment, and I still say, simply, 'I want you.'

Dream goes still for a fraction of a moment, but says nothing except, 'Goodbye.' He begins to turn away, then stops. A wicked gleam comes into his eyes. That's new, I think.

'Everybody dreams.', he whispers.

'Yeah,' I say, 'And?'

He smiles suddenly, only this time it looks like he knows something that I don't.

'Well, then. I shall find a way to make one for you.'

''Make one for me'? What does that mean?'

'Goodbye', Dream walks away, and this time I know this is final. I take a step towards him almost involuntarily, but even without turning his head he knows somehow, and holds up a hand. I stop, and watch him disappear into the night. Something else doesn't occur to me until long after.

He called me Audrey Silver, but I never told him that was my name.