Title: Dreams
Desclaimer: I own nothing and I don't make money with this Story.
Notes: Some Diana Gabaldon Fans might recognise the first three sentences.
I borrowed them from book 3, because they gave me the idea of writing
that story.
Dreams
He sighed, rubbing his cheek against the pillow. He could see Hector still, in his mind's
eye. Dark-haired and blue-eyed, tender-mouthed, always smiling. It had been ten years
since Hector had died at Culloden, hacked to pieces by a Highland broadsword, and still
John woke in the dawn sometimes, body arched in clutching spasm, feeling Hector's touch.
His gentle fingers running down his torso, slightly stroking his hips, his thighs. He
still could feel Hector's lips on his. Such tenderness within them, when they were
tracing the same way his hands had explored before...
No, no he wouldn't go through this hell again. He'd been there shortly after
his beloved's death, lost in the memory of happier days, lost in grief, only remaining
sane by the thoughts of revenge. He hated the Scots then. Nothing could have held him
back, if he'd been given the chance to torture and murder any of them. But he had been
transfered to France. John wondered if his brother had anything to do with it. Hal
almost always knew what was good for him. Maybe he'd seen his hatred, and had known
that he would have done some stupid things, if he'd stayed in the Highlands. The hatred
hadn't gone, but it only glimmered in the back of his head, hid away behind his healthy
mind and the knowledge of how exactly how a man in his position as a major had to act
towards prisoners. Prisoners, former enemies, but still people under his care. Lord John
Grey wouldn't let his honor fail, just because of his own personal hatred. As his
thoughts trailed off, he fell slightly asleep and entered the empire of his dreams and
feelings, hidden deep in his mind.
He felt safe and warm, gently brushed by the sun's mild autumn rays, tickeled by the soft,
fragrant gras underneath his back and caressed by tender fingers that ran down his spine.
He knew exactly where he was and who was with him. It was the day before he had accompanied
Hector and his brother Hal in this stupid war. Hector had led him into this small forest
near John's home and the clearing had almost taken his breath when he first stepped in.
Bright rays of sunlight broke through the roof of leafs which almost met over a ground
covered with grass and soft moss. It 's been like a fairy tale. They had lain there all
afternoon, had enjoyed the sun, the silence and each other.He knew that he was dreaming.
He knew it very well, but for the first time in ten years the remembrences in his dream
didn't hurt. The rembrence of having Hector next to him, feeling, touching him, actually
felt pleasant. Comforting like a good, old memory of an unforgotten partner left in
friendship. He knew he'd never forget Hector. He just couldn't. Hector had been the first
love in his life, maybe the only one up to now, but something had changed. Something
inside him had changed. He probably was ready now for a new beginning. A new relationship,
maybe a new love.But for now, he was content with dwelling on in his dream. Lying there
beside Hector, cherishing his gentle, loving touch. He only briefly wondered since when
Hector had red hair...
Desclaimer: I own nothing and I don't make money with this Story.
Notes: Some Diana Gabaldon Fans might recognise the first three sentences.
I borrowed them from book 3, because they gave me the idea of writing
that story.
Dreams
He sighed, rubbing his cheek against the pillow. He could see Hector still, in his mind's
eye. Dark-haired and blue-eyed, tender-mouthed, always smiling. It had been ten years
since Hector had died at Culloden, hacked to pieces by a Highland broadsword, and still
John woke in the dawn sometimes, body arched in clutching spasm, feeling Hector's touch.
His gentle fingers running down his torso, slightly stroking his hips, his thighs. He
still could feel Hector's lips on his. Such tenderness within them, when they were
tracing the same way his hands had explored before...
No, no he wouldn't go through this hell again. He'd been there shortly after
his beloved's death, lost in the memory of happier days, lost in grief, only remaining
sane by the thoughts of revenge. He hated the Scots then. Nothing could have held him
back, if he'd been given the chance to torture and murder any of them. But he had been
transfered to France. John wondered if his brother had anything to do with it. Hal
almost always knew what was good for him. Maybe he'd seen his hatred, and had known
that he would have done some stupid things, if he'd stayed in the Highlands. The hatred
hadn't gone, but it only glimmered in the back of his head, hid away behind his healthy
mind and the knowledge of how exactly how a man in his position as a major had to act
towards prisoners. Prisoners, former enemies, but still people under his care. Lord John
Grey wouldn't let his honor fail, just because of his own personal hatred. As his
thoughts trailed off, he fell slightly asleep and entered the empire of his dreams and
feelings, hidden deep in his mind.
He felt safe and warm, gently brushed by the sun's mild autumn rays, tickeled by the soft,
fragrant gras underneath his back and caressed by tender fingers that ran down his spine.
He knew exactly where he was and who was with him. It was the day before he had accompanied
Hector and his brother Hal in this stupid war. Hector had led him into this small forest
near John's home and the clearing had almost taken his breath when he first stepped in.
Bright rays of sunlight broke through the roof of leafs which almost met over a ground
covered with grass and soft moss. It 's been like a fairy tale. They had lain there all
afternoon, had enjoyed the sun, the silence and each other.He knew that he was dreaming.
He knew it very well, but for the first time in ten years the remembrences in his dream
didn't hurt. The rembrence of having Hector next to him, feeling, touching him, actually
felt pleasant. Comforting like a good, old memory of an unforgotten partner left in
friendship. He knew he'd never forget Hector. He just couldn't. Hector had been the first
love in his life, maybe the only one up to now, but something had changed. Something
inside him had changed. He probably was ready now for a new beginning. A new relationship,
maybe a new love.But for now, he was content with dwelling on in his dream. Lying there
beside Hector, cherishing his gentle, loving touch. He only briefly wondered since when
Hector had red hair...