Dream the Fourth
Someone was kissing him.
Softly, carefully. But there was more to it than just softness. It had none of the innocence that word might imply, though, certainly, much of the tenderness.
No, this was warmer… hotter. Gentle fingers at his throat and a tongue toying with his. Pushing easily past his lips, running over the ridge of his teeth, in and then out again. And he found himself kissing back, sinking into the wetness of it, into the sweet taste of him. Full, beautiful lips. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd taken the man's lower lip in his teeth, and pulled at it, just a bit.
This got him the response he wanted. A quick, sharp breath, eyes closed in ecstasy. The kiss deepened, grew rougher, more demanding. The man sucked at his tongue and pressed hard against him now, grinding his hips into him. He could feel it entirely now, the body against his, warm and hard and smooth. He reached out, eyes still closed, put his hand at the small of the other man's back. Let the tips of his fingers trail up the smooth skin, just over his spine. Just enough so that he could feel his fingernails. Just enough so he would want more.
He felt himself being pulled in, then found himself almost entirely underneath the ideal man, shoulders straining and sculpted as he held himself over him. Apollo and David and every other perfect figure ever created. Right here. With him. The man stopped kissing his mouth, and moved to his neck, that tender spot just where his jaw met his neck, just under his ear. The man breathed his name, a familiar voice, but an unfamiliar huskiness, urgency.
He laid the entire length of his body against him, one of his legs between his, one on the outside, halfway burying him. Kissing him, then dragging his teeth across him just a little. Just a delicate nibble, at his neck. Down further. Further, as his back arched slightly, his head pressing further into the pillow, his neck exposed completely. Kissing, nipping at his collar bone. Such soft lips, such a clever tongue.
His hands kept themselves busy while the man's mouth worked sweetly at him. One tracing lines up and down the other's exquisite back, another entangled in his short, thick hair. Just this feeling, the feeling of his skin against him, of the palm of his hand flattened on his stomach, of his beguiling mouth doing such lovely things, this was what he'd wanted.
This had not happened before. Not like this. But he wanted it.
The rush of blood between his legs, the strain of it against the other's stomach. The man dragged himself across him when he felt him rise, made him bite his lip to keep silent, moved lower still. Past the dark hair on his chest, to toy at his nipple. He licked at it, pulled at it with his lips, finally bit at it, gently. But it was enough. Simultaneously, one hand was sliding lower and lower, over his stomach, palm still flat and hungry against him, sliding down to cup his hip bone, spread its fingers slowly.
Perfect, terrible anticipation. A beautiful sort of need. Biting at his lip again, muffling a groan, he tasted metal. Blood. He'd bitten so hard, he'd drawn blood.
Wetness, trailing down his stomach, the man's expert tongue as he kissed, licked, on his way down. He dug his fingernails into the other now, just a bit more, and he responded with a quick nip at his navel. Then again, further down.
Ah, Dieu. He would die of it, he was sure. Die of the ache, the wonderful, breathtaking ache. Of the feeling of this man against him, the feeling of the muscles in his back as he held himself over him, the feeling of his erection against his leg, of his hot, greedy mouth all over him.
The man's name hung on the tip of his lips, almost spilled over as a sigh, in an erratic breath.
But suddenly, breath left him entirely. The man's name…
No. Oh god, no. This was not possible. It wasn't real…
The other felt him tense, looked up, and gave him the first full view of his handsome face since this had begun. A question in his cold eyes.
"Non… c'est impossible…" he tried to take it in, but it all felt wrong.
"Impossible? I beg to differ, Jean-Paul…," he was smiling. As if he belonged here, naked, in his bed, doing such things to him. Such a familiar smile, that only made it hurt more.
No.
He cocked his head, and crawled back up, so that his face was hanging over his, their lips nearly touching, his breath hot against his face. He straddled him in one swift movement, pinning him down entirely, and brought a hand up to his lip, touching at it carefully. "You're bleeding, mon amour." Perfect accent, this time. Voice low, tender, so warm. Warm, despite the chill in his eyes.
Oh Christ, so wrong… this was all so wrong…
And then, he changed. Suddenly, the face was far less familiar, sharper. No longer his Apollo. But he knew it, all the same.
"I told you I know you, Jean-Paul," her horrible violet eyes burned into him, and he found that he could not move. Pinned under her, long golden legs around his midsection. Dark hair hanging around his face like a curtain. Breath like roses. His heart beat so fast, he felt it would burst through his ribcage. And he couldn't breathe…
"I know everything." She placed one hand on his chest, as if to prove her dominance by holding him down just a little more. The other hand she brought to her mouth, and licked her index finger, pausing to close her lips around the tip of it for a moment. His blood. She was licking his blood off her finger. " I know what you've done, I know what you are, and I know what you want. How does it make you feel?"
He tried to scream at her, to throw her across the room, but all that came from him was a feral sort of growl, and all he could manage was to reach out, take her by the shoulders, and shove her—
The effort of it threw him forward, on the bed. Tangled up in his sheets. Alone, confused, and utterly horrified.