Title: Dreams
Rating: R
Content: Slash, surrealness, violence, blood, character death, romance
Distribution: Ask first, please.
Characters: Christian/Lance Storm.
Genre: Horror, romance, general weirdness.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to WWE, not me.
Summary: Christian has a bad night.
Dreams.
Blackness faded into a surrounding red, which in turn melted into blinding white. The sound of feet in light boots pounded heavily against an unrelenting hard and cold stone floor. Tired lungs drew in violent weighty breaths and cast out sounds resembling heartbroken sobs more than fatigued exhalation. The fervent gasps echoed throughout the prison of pure bright light while the footfalls dimmed into silence and were replaced with the intense distraught thudding of an anxious heart.
The thudding slowed as he was swiftly born into the light, padding barefoot across the frosted domain. His shoulders were caressed with golden blonde, his clothing nothing but a lengthy white robe that dragged about his heels like a loyal house pet. He walked to the rhythm of the fading heart like a dancer to the beat of a drum. His eyes scanned the peculiar area, searching for some unknown thing. But he found nothing but pure white, blazing and cold.
Like a shadow, Fear crept up upon the apprehensive individual that was so sightlessly venturing into the illuminated territory. The young man felt Fear's sinister fingers tight around his throat, tightening and tightening with every step he took. Raising a fist and sinking it hard into the midsection of the blonde hared man, the invisible tormentor cackled wickedly as the young man fell gasping to his knees. His lungs clenched with such force that his next breath would not come. Coughing and wheezing frenziedly, he clutched at his neck and stomach in unadulterated agony and alarm, willing the tightness away before he suffocated. After a few horrific moments, the congest in his torso subsided, allowing him to once again focus on the extraordinary around him. Pushing the long golden locks out of his eyes, the young man crawled along the chalk-like concrete floor.
Curiosity guided him on his hands and knees across the pale light terrain, though Fear still gripped at his young heart, wrenching it in a vice-like lock. He felt so alone and lost in this unfamiliar area. Painfully lifting his pretty little head, he gazed into the blinding illume with deathly ice blue eyes. Was he dead? Is that why it was so hard to breath? The apathetic beacon glowered down on the young man, and seemed to mock him as tears began streaming down his colorless flawless cheeks. Everything blurred as his head came to rest against the impenetrable ground. A wave of heat past over his prone body, dragging the darkness with it.
He awoke to a thick potent stench flooding the hot air. Why did this feel known to him? His eyes drifted open and revealed he was standing once more. A long corridor lay ahead of him. So many doors leading into so many rooms. Stepping forward slowly, he read the small signs on each door as he passed them. Names he was familiar with, names of people he knew well. The thick black letters on the signs seemed to melt into each other as his eyes flashed over them. He shuddered as he felt something cold and viscous under his feet. Running his eyes down to the floor, his eyes widened at the extensive trail of dripped liquid that picked out a path down the long hallway. The substance that had been trailed was a deep dark shade of scarlet that smeared into a lighter shade as the young man's feet dragged across it.
As he furthered down the corridor, the blonde felt the substance trail getting warmer against his soles. The odour from before was more heated and more evident then ever, thickening the air as he neared the end of the trail. That smothering sensation was returning again, this time more exuberant than before. Panic and bewilderment caused the blonde man's lungs to strain, trepidation seizing his soul and stirring a feeling of nausea in his gut.
The concentrated dripping led to the outside of a door at the end of the hallway. There, it pooled as if spilt or poured from a jug. And there, the foulness of the air reached its peak. The sickening smell was deeply loathsome and intensely putrescent. It was uncannily well known to the young man, whose fingers raked through his sandy colored hair as he searched every corner of his memory, determined to identify the horrendous stench. After what seemed like many hours of oblivion, the blonde reluctantly took a precarious step forward.
As his feet came to rest in the small pool of crimson, he felt himself falling. He opened his eyes to the same thick redness that he had witnessed on the corridor floor. Only this time, it submerged him like liquid flames. A fear of drowning permit a silent scream escape his lips, and he spluttered vainly as thickness flowed into the depth of his mouth and throat. However unwillingly, he savoured the hot dark substance against his tongue. A rush of nostalgia stirred within him as he relished and thoroughly begun to enjoy the fluid which seemed to hold no threat to him any longer. He found he could inhale the solution that was definitely better consumed then breathed in.
A frightened scream from the surface penetrated the depth of the flood, bringing the young blonde out of his reminiscent disposition. Panic once again arose and began to overflow inside of the young man as he swam against the fierce waters and back to the stench-ridden surface.
He clambered from the red crater dry to the bone, his pure white robe miraculously gone as if it had never been to begin with. In its place, tight ebony material clung to his young creamy skin. A pair of jet-black boots fell heavily against the dressing room floor as the blonde stomped to his feet. Through a pair of dark glasses, he gazed at the black leather gloves squeezing his elegant hands tightly. A brief perusal of the floor assured him that the orifice and the dashes of red had dissolved into nothingness. Movement from across the room alerted the young man. He glanced up and perused the muscular form of another man, older than him, but only slightly. Short dark hair and deep green eyes met his own blue ones. A slight, though friendly smile played about the lips of the other man. The blonde waited, watching and listening, but his companion just stood, motionless and not uttering a sound.
After a moment of silence, the younger man took a breath to speak as he raised a hand up to remove the dark glasses, finding that they were hindering his vision to the brink of annoyance. Now his sight was clear, he gasped, a distressed scream trapping in his throat. The glasses fell to the floor and shattered to the point of no repair as he fell to his knees at the side of his fallen friend.
The dark hared man's face contorted in pure anguish as he clutched desperately as the colossal gash that had appeared across his toned stomach. The unmistakable redness flowed hesitantly in thick waves from the deep wound, casting a deathly pale stain across the older man's face. His teeth ground against each other strenuously insisting that the pain leave, while his final breaths came in short sharp pants. Scooping his friend into his protective arms, the blonde blinked away his tears, pushing his own pain to one side as he fumbled into aiding that of the other man. He placed a firm hand across the slit in the dark hared man's gut, but this seemed to succeed only in making the life substance flow faster from its vessel.
The blonde felt his emotion and heartache overwhelm him as the tears began spilling from his eyes and down his cheeks. He held onto his dear friend, like he never could nor ever would let go. He could hear himself screaming for help, feelings of anger and frustration coursing through his tense body when none came. He heard himself shout for the older man to hold on and that he wouldn't let him die. The blonde stared into the wonderful green eyes that were now ever so slowly closing, and watched all the color and life drain from the face of his treasured loved one. That odour, that fateful stench had returned again. It was all around, thicker than ever. It clung to his skin and raked his hair, and choked him with its immense asphyxiating density.
Ignoring the stifling milieu as best he could, the young blonde helplessly stroked his fingertips against the skin of his closest friend's cheek. It was so cold and inert. Squeezing the older man's hand in his own tightly, the distressed young man planted a gentle kiss on his friend's clammy icy forehead.
'I love you, Lance,' he whispered.
But Lance was already too far away to hear. After a long moment, realisation finally set in. The young man released the body of his unfortunate friend and gently placed him on the ground. Adorned with crimson, the floor gave way and allowed the one at peace to drift slowly into its midst. The one left behind watched this, torment washing over his quaking form. He suddenly felt something that he hadn't noticed before. Glancing down at his right hand, his eyes widened at what they saw. In between his very fingers rested a sharp blade, heavily soiled with crimson matter.
He threw the blade down, letting out a frustrated uncontrollable scream of unbearable pain and indescribable sorrow. Sobbing unabashedly, he tugged hard on his blonde hair and fell to the floor, curling up into a pathetic quivering lump of human flesh…
*-*-*
'Christian? Christian, wake up!'
A soft voice stirred the young Canadian from his restless slumber. Still alarmed from his experiences, the blonde shot up in his bed with a short loud scream. His eyes were wide with terror, his breathing heavy with hysteria and sweat cascaded down his lovely young face. He felt strong, secure arms around him and leaned into them, still trembling. The soothing voice calmed him as best it could, the arms rocking him back and forth.
'Hey, it's okay. Are you alright? I heard you screaming.'
As Christian looked up into his friend's eyes, all the awful memories of his hideous nightmare came rushing back to him. Without warning, he burst into what seemed to be an endless flood of tears, burying his face into the crook of his companion's shoulder. Slightly disturbed though extremely concerned for his young friend, the dark hared man made even more of an effort to calm Christian.
'Christian, what is it?' he asked gently.
'Oh Lance, I had such a bad dream!' Christian gasped in between sobs. 'It was awful!'
Lance nodded sympathetically, stroking his fingers through Christian's soggy dishevelled hair.
'It's okay, it's all over now,' he said softly.
'I dreamt that I killed you,' Christian blurted out. 'I tried to help you, but there wasn't anything I could do.'
The younger man broke down again, tightening his arms around Lance as the sobs came harder. Returning the firm embrace, Lance gently rested his head against Christian's.
'Christian, it was just a dream,' he rationalised patiently. 'I'm not dead, I'm just fine. It was all a dream that's over now.'
Feeling Lance's body so close to his reassured Christian enough to halt his hysterics. After a few moments, he was perfectly docile, though still a little tearful. Realising that Christian was not going to release him anytime soon, Lance slowly lay down on the bed beside his fellow Canadian, his arms around Christian's waist coaxing the younger man to lay down with him. Christian did just that, cuddling up close to Lance as they lay. Both were surprised at the lack of awkwardness that such an intimate embrace between two good friends gave off. Having another man pressed this close against you in such a way should never feel this right. Or should it? Lance gazed down at the younger man snuggled against his chest and smiled a soft smile.
'Want me to stay here with you?' he asked in a hushed whisper.
Christian looked up and nodded wordlessly, smiling gratefully at the older man who cared for him so. They lay together in their silence embrace for a short time, not trying to get to sleep but merely enjoying the contact they were sharing. Lance was deep in thought. He and Christian had become the best of friends so quickly over the past few months. The younger man had always struck Lance as someone extremely special. And maybe, just maybe, Lance's feelings for Christian ran a little deeper than friendship. But would it be safe to say that Lance was in love with Christian? He wasn't sure. But maybe…
Breathing Lance in, Christian had similar thoughts to his fellow Canadian flicking through his head. Was that dream trying to tell him something? He'd had a crush on Lance for quite some time now. And since they had become so close, the crush had intensified significantly. Perhaps it was love, Christian didn't know. But the thought of that dream ever becoming reality...
'I love you, you know that?'
Lance looked down at Christian in surprise. Had he really just said that? Moving slightly, Christian pulled himself up so he could look directly into Lance's eyes. Still not believing what he had heard, Lance stared blankly into Christian's attractive blue eyes.
'You…what?'
Smiling in slight amusement at Lance's confused look, Christian slowly leaned forward and pressed his lips to Lance's cheek. The crimson color that washed across the older man's face reminded the blonde Canadian why he'd come out with such a thing. Taking a deep breath, Christian gazed into Lance's deep green eyes and smiled gently.
'I love you, Lance Storm,' he said firmly.
As this sunk in, a small smile crept across Lance's handsome face. He used the arm he still had around Christian's waist to pull the younger man towards him. Christian felt intense heat warm his heart as Lance pulled him into a fleeting kiss. Even though the kiss was very brief, light and coy, it was the most romantic thing that either one of them had ever experienced. The sweet gentle smile ever present on his lips, Lance used his free hand to brush Christian's hair back behind his ears.
'Christian…I love you too.'
*~*~*~*
*Sniffs* Aww! I love the Lance/Christian pairing! *Grins* But what did you think of it? Let me know and thanks a million for reading.
Cherry Cage.