The Dream Cycle Four: Natural Light
By Ginger
She emitted a small gasp and opened her eyes, blinking at the light streaming into the room, natural light casting everything in a warm, amber glow. Her eyes adjusting, she gazed thoughtfully up at the high ceiling and whispered a soft but weighty, "huh."
*So THAT'S it...*
She might have pondered her realization longer only, glancing at her wristwatch, it occurred to her that she hadn't emptied her bladder in something approaching eighteen hours. And she needed to... urgently. It was only when she tried to raise herself off the mattress that she became conscious of an obstacle, an arm draped across her waist. Then it registered: breathing, soft and even, beside her. She turned her head slowly and smiled lazily.
His eyelids fluttered as he lay on his side facing her, one arm bent and tucked under his pillow, the other stretched over her body. He was dead to the world, off in that far away land of sleep. He looked peaceful and so very beautiful: those fluttering eyelids with their absurdly thick, dark lashes, that exasperatingly tempting birthmark, those slightly upturned lips, and that stubbly chin. Oh yeah, she reminded herself, I have to pee.
So she slid carefully out from under his arm and off the mattress, her bottom coming to rest softly on the floor. Must be a studio of some kind, she thought as she looked around and noticed for the first time how different this room was from what she'd seen of the rest of the decrepit industrial building. The walls were painted a soothing shade of white instead of drab gray; varnished oak wood planks covered the concrete; long, sheer, gauzy curtains hung over the tall windows instead of metal grating.
And here she was, sitting on the floor, wearing only her underpants and still having to piss like a racehorse. She shook her head then stood up and carefully leaned over the mattress to pluck his discarded shirt from where it lay near his feet, pulling it on and wrapping it around her but not bothering with the buttons as she made a beeline for the bathroom.
When she returned, she was rather expecting to find him awake but he wasn't. In fact he hadn't moved a muscle. She ambled over to the floor lamp made redundant by the sunlight pouring into the room and switched it off. She imagined he always slept with a light on, when he slept at all. He wouldn't be comfortable in total darkness.
Amazing the things she knew about him. He'd managed to seep in gradually over the years. Or maybe he'd always been there, she mused with a sigh as she closed her eyes and tilted her head up to feel the sun's warmth on her face. Knowing him was ostensibly what had gotten her into this mess in the first place, or so went the theory anyway. But they couldn't possibly realize how well she knew him because if they did, then they'd realize what she'd only recently admitted to herself: that her failure to meet the clearly stated objective of her job - day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year - had been more or less intentional. Obviously they hadn't realized because if they had, then she wouldn't be here. She wouldn't be anywhere because she'd be dead.
Remarkably, in spite of everything that had come to pass, she was indeed alive and, for the first time in recent memory, didn't feel half-bad. She'd enjoyed several hours of uninterrupted, if not entirely dreamless, sleep. Not that she couldn't do with more and planned to. Letting the shirt drop open, she rubbed her bare belly, thinking she could also do with a meal of some kind, not even attempting to recall when she'd last eaten.
Shaken from her reverie by a soft sound behind her, she turned to see that he had flopped onto his back but was still sound asleep. She sighed, thinking she only had ten days worth of insomnia to sleep off; the poor boy had a lifetime's worth. She padded quietly to the foot of the mattress and, letting her gaze fall upon his sleeping form, couldn't help but emit a small hum of approbation.
*Golden boy...*
Bathed in natural light, he appeared to her like a sleeping angel from the Renaissance. Not one of those benign, sexless, cherubic creatures but a powerful warrior, decidedly male, enjoying a much-deserved rest after battling Satan and his minions.
*An archangel...*
And Michelangelo himself could not have done better. Her eyes roamed languorously up his strong arms, over his powerful shoulders, and across his beautiful torso. She took in the long, lean leg now poking out from beneath the blankets covering his lower half before returning to that perfectly muscular chest bearing just enough hair, the patch narrowing at that flawlessly sculpted abdomen into an enticing little trail leading to...
Crouching down and biting her lip, she carefully pulled the blankets off of and away from his body. He stirred slightly but didn't wake. Grinning at the sight of him sprawled on his back before her wearing only his underwear, she climbed onto the mattress, straddling his legs and walking up his body. Stopping at what she deemed a suitable point and kneeling astride him, she took another moment to contemplate him then leaned in to breathe him in, her hair tumbling forward to tickle his chest. He made a soft noise, still trapped in a web of slumber.
She touched him, tentatively at first, just the tips of her fingers brushing his pleasingly warm skin, feather light strokes along the insides of his arms, his chest and belly. He turned his head slowly, treading against a tide of sleep, and murmured incoherently. Her caresses grew bolder; she raked her fingernails gently across his flesh from his shoulders down to his navel then up to the sides of his ribcage where, if she remembered correctly, he was ticklish. He moaned and she glanced up to see an adorable mixture of bliss and bewilderment on his face, as though he'd been initially certain he were dreaming but, as he approached consciousness, wasn't so sure anymore. His eyes fluttered open for an instant then closed again. She grinned as it occurred to her that if he thought was dreaming then...
*Maybe you've had this dream before, you naughty boy.*
He was definitely waking up, well, parts of him anyway. Moving down his body, she pressed a knee between his then settled between the legs that parted easily at her behest and began stroking and tickling the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. He again murmured something and this time she understood what it was. She knew the history, the things he'd experienced since his escape; it was all there in black and white in neatly kept files in well-organized cabinets in her office. There were at least a couple names that might have come up under the circumstances. He was still half-asleep, after all. What she'd heard was her own name, her *first* name.
A wave of tender gratitude swept over her and she leaned forward to press hot, wet kisses to his chest, blazing a trail to his belly button before flicking her tongue into the sweet little crevice. He groaned and she felt him surge against her, his hand sliding into her hair. Reveling in the sensation of his body awakening beneath her touch, she looked up to find his eyes open and fully meeting hers for the first time. They were heavy with sleep and dark with arousal but were also questioning and conveyed a hint of fear, which only fueled her resolve.
*Sure, you've had experiences but you've never experienced ME.*
She sat back on her heels and glanced pointedly at the tent in his boxers, quirking an eyebrow. He reached for her but she shook her head vigorously, casting him a stern look before making a show of peeling off the borrowed shirt. His eyes flashed with excitement; his bobbing Adam's apple told her that his mouth had gone dry. Smiling confidently, for that's truly how she felt, she slipped her hands into the waistband of his shorts, tugging to signal her desire for his cooperation. Sucking in a sharp breath he complied, raising his hips so she could slip his boxers down over his slim hips and, by shimmying down the mattress, completely off. Carelessly tossing them aside she clambered back up the mattress to retake her position between his legs.
Her eyes locked on his, she took him, warm and hard and weeping, into her hand and stroked once... twice... a third time then brazenly licked her lips. He groaned, his eyes narrowing. Then he looked as though he were about to speak so she pressed a finger to her lips, dissuading him. Later... they'd talk later. She was alive and rested and feeling good and all she wanted, all she needed, at that moment was to touch, to taste, to please.
And so she did, sinking down to take him into her mouth while her hands explored his most sensitive, intimate treasures. She tickled, teased, and tortured, taking infinite pleasure in his delicious gasps and moans until he clutched helplessly at the bottom sheet and begged for release, his desperate pleas music to her ears. Granting his wish, she was grateful for the sun's illuminating power, watching in contentment as those big brown eyes rolled back in his head, ecstasy crashing down upon him and cascading across his handsome face. He was so very beautiful in natural light... the golden boy... her angel.
Stretching out beside him she molded her body to his and placed one hand tenderly over his heart. As he recovered, his expression became one of complete relaxation; his eyelids grew heavy. She thought he was on the verge of drifting off again when he perked up suddenly, grinning goofily then pulling her into a crushing embrace and kissing her, passionately, lingeringly, and for the next several hours.
He kissed her as he gleefully removed her underpants to take his turn teasing her to frenzy then bringing her to glorious climax. He kissed her as he entered her body for the first time, and the second, and the third. Even hours later when they were both too tired to move, he continued to press sweet little kisses to her forehead, eyelids, nose, cheeks, and wherever he could reach as she dozed against him.
And later still, when the growling of her stomach awoke them both, prompting him to hastily dress and literally run out in search of food, he returned quicker than she'd have imagined humanly possible with the best authentic New York-style deli she'd ever tasted. He undressed immediately upon his return, as if eating dinner fully clothed were a preposterous thing to do, and joined her on the mattress for a picnic, kissing her between mouthfuls and sips of Dr. Brown's Cream Soda. It was during their meal that she remembered the epiphany she'd begun her day with and told him about it.
It was the dream; she knew what she'd been dreaming since the accident. It was springtime and she was running through the woods. She laughed at his bemused expression, acknowledging that she was not, in general, a running around in the woods type of gal, unless, of course, she was chasing him.
"I dreamt I was HIM," she explained. "The deer."
He grimaced and took her hand, assuming that she'd been dreaming of the accident.
"No," she clarified. "It wasn't about THAT. It was spring, not winter and I didn't dream about his death, I dreamt about his life, what it felt like to be him...what it felt like to be..." She smiled. "Free."
Smiling back at her, he asked softly, "So, how does it feel?"
"Wonderful," she sighed, leaning in to kiss him.
# # # #
By Ginger
She emitted a small gasp and opened her eyes, blinking at the light streaming into the room, natural light casting everything in a warm, amber glow. Her eyes adjusting, she gazed thoughtfully up at the high ceiling and whispered a soft but weighty, "huh."
*So THAT'S it...*
She might have pondered her realization longer only, glancing at her wristwatch, it occurred to her that she hadn't emptied her bladder in something approaching eighteen hours. And she needed to... urgently. It was only when she tried to raise herself off the mattress that she became conscious of an obstacle, an arm draped across her waist. Then it registered: breathing, soft and even, beside her. She turned her head slowly and smiled lazily.
His eyelids fluttered as he lay on his side facing her, one arm bent and tucked under his pillow, the other stretched over her body. He was dead to the world, off in that far away land of sleep. He looked peaceful and so very beautiful: those fluttering eyelids with their absurdly thick, dark lashes, that exasperatingly tempting birthmark, those slightly upturned lips, and that stubbly chin. Oh yeah, she reminded herself, I have to pee.
So she slid carefully out from under his arm and off the mattress, her bottom coming to rest softly on the floor. Must be a studio of some kind, she thought as she looked around and noticed for the first time how different this room was from what she'd seen of the rest of the decrepit industrial building. The walls were painted a soothing shade of white instead of drab gray; varnished oak wood planks covered the concrete; long, sheer, gauzy curtains hung over the tall windows instead of metal grating.
And here she was, sitting on the floor, wearing only her underpants and still having to piss like a racehorse. She shook her head then stood up and carefully leaned over the mattress to pluck his discarded shirt from where it lay near his feet, pulling it on and wrapping it around her but not bothering with the buttons as she made a beeline for the bathroom.
When she returned, she was rather expecting to find him awake but he wasn't. In fact he hadn't moved a muscle. She ambled over to the floor lamp made redundant by the sunlight pouring into the room and switched it off. She imagined he always slept with a light on, when he slept at all. He wouldn't be comfortable in total darkness.
Amazing the things she knew about him. He'd managed to seep in gradually over the years. Or maybe he'd always been there, she mused with a sigh as she closed her eyes and tilted her head up to feel the sun's warmth on her face. Knowing him was ostensibly what had gotten her into this mess in the first place, or so went the theory anyway. But they couldn't possibly realize how well she knew him because if they did, then they'd realize what she'd only recently admitted to herself: that her failure to meet the clearly stated objective of her job - day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year - had been more or less intentional. Obviously they hadn't realized because if they had, then she wouldn't be here. She wouldn't be anywhere because she'd be dead.
Remarkably, in spite of everything that had come to pass, she was indeed alive and, for the first time in recent memory, didn't feel half-bad. She'd enjoyed several hours of uninterrupted, if not entirely dreamless, sleep. Not that she couldn't do with more and planned to. Letting the shirt drop open, she rubbed her bare belly, thinking she could also do with a meal of some kind, not even attempting to recall when she'd last eaten.
Shaken from her reverie by a soft sound behind her, she turned to see that he had flopped onto his back but was still sound asleep. She sighed, thinking she only had ten days worth of insomnia to sleep off; the poor boy had a lifetime's worth. She padded quietly to the foot of the mattress and, letting her gaze fall upon his sleeping form, couldn't help but emit a small hum of approbation.
*Golden boy...*
Bathed in natural light, he appeared to her like a sleeping angel from the Renaissance. Not one of those benign, sexless, cherubic creatures but a powerful warrior, decidedly male, enjoying a much-deserved rest after battling Satan and his minions.
*An archangel...*
And Michelangelo himself could not have done better. Her eyes roamed languorously up his strong arms, over his powerful shoulders, and across his beautiful torso. She took in the long, lean leg now poking out from beneath the blankets covering his lower half before returning to that perfectly muscular chest bearing just enough hair, the patch narrowing at that flawlessly sculpted abdomen into an enticing little trail leading to...
Crouching down and biting her lip, she carefully pulled the blankets off of and away from his body. He stirred slightly but didn't wake. Grinning at the sight of him sprawled on his back before her wearing only his underwear, she climbed onto the mattress, straddling his legs and walking up his body. Stopping at what she deemed a suitable point and kneeling astride him, she took another moment to contemplate him then leaned in to breathe him in, her hair tumbling forward to tickle his chest. He made a soft noise, still trapped in a web of slumber.
She touched him, tentatively at first, just the tips of her fingers brushing his pleasingly warm skin, feather light strokes along the insides of his arms, his chest and belly. He turned his head slowly, treading against a tide of sleep, and murmured incoherently. Her caresses grew bolder; she raked her fingernails gently across his flesh from his shoulders down to his navel then up to the sides of his ribcage where, if she remembered correctly, he was ticklish. He moaned and she glanced up to see an adorable mixture of bliss and bewilderment on his face, as though he'd been initially certain he were dreaming but, as he approached consciousness, wasn't so sure anymore. His eyes fluttered open for an instant then closed again. She grinned as it occurred to her that if he thought was dreaming then...
*Maybe you've had this dream before, you naughty boy.*
He was definitely waking up, well, parts of him anyway. Moving down his body, she pressed a knee between his then settled between the legs that parted easily at her behest and began stroking and tickling the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. He again murmured something and this time she understood what it was. She knew the history, the things he'd experienced since his escape; it was all there in black and white in neatly kept files in well-organized cabinets in her office. There were at least a couple names that might have come up under the circumstances. He was still half-asleep, after all. What she'd heard was her own name, her *first* name.
A wave of tender gratitude swept over her and she leaned forward to press hot, wet kisses to his chest, blazing a trail to his belly button before flicking her tongue into the sweet little crevice. He groaned and she felt him surge against her, his hand sliding into her hair. Reveling in the sensation of his body awakening beneath her touch, she looked up to find his eyes open and fully meeting hers for the first time. They were heavy with sleep and dark with arousal but were also questioning and conveyed a hint of fear, which only fueled her resolve.
*Sure, you've had experiences but you've never experienced ME.*
She sat back on her heels and glanced pointedly at the tent in his boxers, quirking an eyebrow. He reached for her but she shook her head vigorously, casting him a stern look before making a show of peeling off the borrowed shirt. His eyes flashed with excitement; his bobbing Adam's apple told her that his mouth had gone dry. Smiling confidently, for that's truly how she felt, she slipped her hands into the waistband of his shorts, tugging to signal her desire for his cooperation. Sucking in a sharp breath he complied, raising his hips so she could slip his boxers down over his slim hips and, by shimmying down the mattress, completely off. Carelessly tossing them aside she clambered back up the mattress to retake her position between his legs.
Her eyes locked on his, she took him, warm and hard and weeping, into her hand and stroked once... twice... a third time then brazenly licked her lips. He groaned, his eyes narrowing. Then he looked as though he were about to speak so she pressed a finger to her lips, dissuading him. Later... they'd talk later. She was alive and rested and feeling good and all she wanted, all she needed, at that moment was to touch, to taste, to please.
And so she did, sinking down to take him into her mouth while her hands explored his most sensitive, intimate treasures. She tickled, teased, and tortured, taking infinite pleasure in his delicious gasps and moans until he clutched helplessly at the bottom sheet and begged for release, his desperate pleas music to her ears. Granting his wish, she was grateful for the sun's illuminating power, watching in contentment as those big brown eyes rolled back in his head, ecstasy crashing down upon him and cascading across his handsome face. He was so very beautiful in natural light... the golden boy... her angel.
Stretching out beside him she molded her body to his and placed one hand tenderly over his heart. As he recovered, his expression became one of complete relaxation; his eyelids grew heavy. She thought he was on the verge of drifting off again when he perked up suddenly, grinning goofily then pulling her into a crushing embrace and kissing her, passionately, lingeringly, and for the next several hours.
He kissed her as he gleefully removed her underpants to take his turn teasing her to frenzy then bringing her to glorious climax. He kissed her as he entered her body for the first time, and the second, and the third. Even hours later when they were both too tired to move, he continued to press sweet little kisses to her forehead, eyelids, nose, cheeks, and wherever he could reach as she dozed against him.
And later still, when the growling of her stomach awoke them both, prompting him to hastily dress and literally run out in search of food, he returned quicker than she'd have imagined humanly possible with the best authentic New York-style deli she'd ever tasted. He undressed immediately upon his return, as if eating dinner fully clothed were a preposterous thing to do, and joined her on the mattress for a picnic, kissing her between mouthfuls and sips of Dr. Brown's Cream Soda. It was during their meal that she remembered the epiphany she'd begun her day with and told him about it.
It was the dream; she knew what she'd been dreaming since the accident. It was springtime and she was running through the woods. She laughed at his bemused expression, acknowledging that she was not, in general, a running around in the woods type of gal, unless, of course, she was chasing him.
"I dreamt I was HIM," she explained. "The deer."
He grimaced and took her hand, assuming that she'd been dreaming of the accident.
"No," she clarified. "It wasn't about THAT. It was spring, not winter and I didn't dream about his death, I dreamt about his life, what it felt like to be him...what it felt like to be..." She smiled. "Free."
Smiling back at her, he asked softly, "So, how does it feel?"
"Wonderful," she sighed, leaning in to kiss him.
# # # #