There's a point to all this dreaming

[forthedog]

The metal clangs under his feet--he realizes after a few seconds of it that the floor isn't solid, it's grated, and under it there are hundreds of massive, turning gears.

They're standing over a giant meat grinder.

The little things with their long knives are swarming at them. He's firing, firing, emptying rounds into the room, but they keep coming, cutting at his legs, knocking him down. He hears a scream, high and wordless and terrified, and he sees Neil's twisted face in the dimness, sees them take him and lift him up, blood running over the metal grating as they carry him away. He's trying to crawl, dragging himself across the floor as beneath him that massive infernal machine grinds and grinds, and he sees another quick, moon-like flash of Neil's face as the knives go to work and Neil is screaming--

He's screaming. Sitting up in bed, the sheets soaked with sweat. Alone.

Quiet.

The window by the bed is open and breeze moves across his bare skin. For a few moments he just sits there in darkness mottled by city lights, trying to breathe normally again. And all he can think, with what little coherence he has at some ungodly hour of the fucking night, is that on a long enough timeframe all dreams might come true.

It takes him another five minutes to come to a decision.

He drags himself out of bed and pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, splashes some water on his face and spares himself a look in the bathroom mirror. He looks pale, hollow-eyed. He looks like what he is, which is a man who hasn't been sleeping well the last two nights. And that, coupled with the city's change before, means that he hasn't gotten decent sleep in about a week.

Fuck this.

He could just go, he thinks. Just head out the door. But that feels a little too much like a month ago, a little too much like something dark and crashing, so instead he heads back into the bedroom, sinks down onto the bed, picks up the cell phone and dials Neil's number.

Comments

[likeaplanet]

It's not a sound I've gotten used to.

At first, it bleeds into whatever I'm dreaming, but that only lasts for a moment or two, and the electronic trilling gets more and more shrill.

Groaning, I crack open an eye, groping blindly in the dark until my hand closes over the phone on the bedside table.

Pressing the talk button, I bring it to my ear and mutter, "Wha'issit?" voice rough and thick-tongued with sleep.

[forthedog]

"Neil. It's me." In the time it took him to decide this, he already got rid of any guilt that he might feel about clearly waking Neil up. Now he just feels nervous, gut clenching and unclenching. Because now things are different.

But he doesn't know quite how yet.

"Sorry I woke you. I--look, can I come over?"

[likeaplanet]

"Wha--?" I mumble stupidly, clawing my way up out of sleep, my eyes blinking against the dark.

"Right now? Yeah, just... Yeah."

I'm already stumbling out of bed, half asleep as I shuffle into the living room in a pair of boxers and unlock the door.

[forthedog]

He's already heading for the door before Neil even says yes--ready to turn around if the answer is no but not quite able to hold himself back until it is. And isn't that familiar? He ignores the harder clench in his middle as he pads to Neil's apartment door in his bare feet and knocks softly.

Soft. Careful. Everything. When everything in him just wants to plunge in and be drowned.

[likeaplanet]

My eyes are still barely open when I open the door, shuffling back to give him room to get inside. The light in the hall seems too bright, searing, and I squint against it, realizing I haven't turned any lights on.

The first night, after everything went back the way it was, I had a hard time turning off any of the lights at all. Now, there's only a lingering bit of nervousness, thinking about what might be lurking in the shadows.

"Wha's goin' on?"

[forthedog]

He has to take a breath. And he can't. Not for a few seconds. It's the first time he's seen Neil wearing this little since... Since. And then he hadn't really even allowed himself to notice much. Now it's like he can't stop looking, even in the hard glow of the hall lighting. Gorgeous body, wiry and narrow and angular and so fucking perfect. So familiar. So new.

"I. Um." He shifts awkwardly, steels himself and pushes his way in as if pressing past a semi-solid barrier. He gives Neil a spare, sidelong smile. "Would you believe I had a bad fucking dream?"

[likeaplanet]

Coughing out a rough laugh, I say, "After the weekend we had? Probably."

I shut the door and the apartment falls into darkness again. If I were fully awake, that might bother me, but right now, it's only a comfort.

"What the fuck do you need, a fuckin' bedtime story?"

[forthedog]

"I needed to see you." In the dark everything is at once much easier and much more difficult. What's seen. What's not. What he'd like to see and can't. The sharper lines of Neil's face in what light comes in through the windows. All the rest in shadow. Himself in the shadows.

Even with one good eye, he can see enough.

"They were taking you. They were--" He cuts himself off with a hard breath and turns away.

[likeaplanet]

"Mike," I breathe, taking a step toward him, finally shaking the last bit of fog from my brain.

"'m right here. 'm fine."

I hesitate, and I know it's probably a mistake, but in the end, I can't stop myself from resting a hand on his shoulder, my gut clenching at the warmth of his skin through his t-shirt.

[forthedog]

This is one of the things that's different now--touch, and what feels all right where touching is concerned, what's allowed, but the filaments of his nerves are wound so tight that even that much makes him tense up, nearly makes him pull away.

He makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "Shit, it's fine. It's not even the worst fucking dream I have about you these days."

He turns back to Neil again, raking one hand through his hair. "Do you have tea? I'll make some."

[likeaplanet]

"I don't want any fuckin' tea," I say, pulling my hand away from him, giving him a look. It's not fine. If it was fine, he wouldn't be here. Not in the middle of the night, breaking one of the many unspoken rules between us.

I wish I'd known that what it took for him to be okay with me touching him was to lose half the fuckin' blood in his body.

"Just... Yeah, whatever. Cabinet above the stove."

[forthedog]

He shoots Neil a harder look as he pushes past, something that isn't quite irritation but might be edging in that direction. In the kitchen he flips on the light, blinking hard, rummages through cabinets for mugs, goes through the ritual of it and lets it soothe him.

Eostre taught him a great deal. At least he remembers some of it now.

[likeaplanet]

"Mike," I breathe, scrubbing both hands over my face and following him into the kitchen. "What the hell are you doin' over here in the middle of the night, sayin' shit's fine. It's not fine."

Fucking talk to me.

[likeaplanet]

My hand's asleep.

That's the first thing that seeps into my brain, my first coherent thought, followed by how badly I have to take a piss. It's not 'til after those thoughts come that I realize there's a body pressed up along my back, t-shirt skin-warmed and clinging to my bare skin.

And then, I realize it's Mike.

It's too warm and there's a kink in my neck, the two of us a little sweaty and sticking together, but I can't think of a single thing about it that's bad.

I shift against him, crack open an eye, sunlight from outside filtering in through the blinds and all that darkness from a few days ago seems really, really far away.

[forthedog]

He feels the body shifting against his and holds on a little tighter, muttering something unintelligible. It's warm but that's normal for the climate, and soon the girls will be stirring and dragging them up but for the moment they've still got--

Oh.

He lifts his head, blinking, verifying a few things as the previous night comes flooding back.

He hadn't dreamed again.

"Hey," he murmurs, letting his head drop back down to the couch cushion. The thing about this is that it doesn't feel as awkward as he thinks it might.

[likeaplanet]

"Hey," I murmur, biting back a yawn and trying to blink the last haze of sleep out of my eyes. I rub at them and they're unsurprisingly crusty and gummy from tears. My nose feels kind of stuffed up. I feel kind of gross, overall, but it doesn't really seem to matter much.

His arm tightens around me and I sink further against his chest, like I'm trying to melt into him. One of these days, it's gonna work.

"Mornin'."

[forthedog]

"Yeah," he says, soft and meditative. "Guess it is." The room looks and feels the same as he remembers--very much like his, actually, down to a lot of the furniture. Nothing's changed. Everything is as they left it.

And it's all completely different now.

He closes his eyes again and buries his face in Neil's hair. "God, wonder what time it is," he says, voice slightly muffled. "Not like I got anywhere to fucking be."

[likeaplanet]

"Who cares?" I murmur, grinning crookedly, my hand reaching to slide around the back of his neck, holding him close.

"Don't think this couch was made for two people to sleep on," I admit with a cough of laughter, "I can't really feel the left half of my body."

[forthedog]

"We could get up," he muses, sleepily thoughtful, as if it seems like a sensible idea but he hasn't completely made up his mind. He holds Neil tighter for a moment--because the sheer fact of him seems almost beyond belief--and then loosens his arm, shifting a little more.

"Seriously, we should. I gotta take a piss like you wouldn't fucking believe."

[likeaplanet]

"Me too," I say with a wheeze of laughter, pushing myself up to sit, arms up over my head to stretch a kink out of my spine.

"How 'bout that raincheck?" I ask, looking over my shoulder at him with a sleepy grin. "I could make pancakes."

[forthedog]

The mention of that conversation--weeks in the past now but still so acidly fresh in his mind--pulls a wince out of him before he can hold it back... And then he thinks about pancakes and mornings in a warm kitchen with Tom and Neil and the girls, and suddenly he's laughing. It's tight and painful but it's real laughter.

This is so ridiculous. Every part of it.

He sits up, scrubbing at his eyes. "Shit," he mutters. "If you wanna make 'em, I'll eat 'em."

[likeaplanet]

"Okay, good," I say, pushing to my feet, standing in my boxers in a living room I only half think of as mine.

"Got eggs and milk still oughta be good. Came in on those creepy fuckin' supply trucks, few weeks back," I mutter. Creepy, but that hasn't stopped me from eating 'em. For all I know, there's drugs in all of it, making us hallucinate or making us docile or who the fuck knows what.

But right now, pancakes seem more important.

[forthedog]

"Fine," he murmurs, still trying to push the sleep out of his head, eye a little unfocused.

Last night, everything felt possible. More than possible; right within his grasp. The life that he's still not entirely sure was ever really his. Redemption. Neil. Now--maybe it's the sun, or the distance of dreams. But he feels further away from it. Uncomfortable in this skin.

But it's still better than it was.

"Look, I'm gonna... I'm gonna go back to my place. Shower. I'll see you in fifteen?"

[likeaplanet]

"Yeah, sure," I say, lifting one shoulder in a shrug and doing a pretty fucking shit job at hiding my disappointment. I can't seem to stop myself from believing that things will just fall into place, that they'll start feeling right for him and he'll stop feeling like he has to pull away. I can't seem to stop myself from wanting it. Now, not later.

"I'll keep the door unlocked, just come in," I say, slipping past him on my way toward the bathroom.

[forthedog]

Back in his apartment he stands in the living room for a few minutes, processing. Trying to process.

Neil. He slept with Neil. Just... just slept.

And the world didn't burst into flames.

"What the fuck," he breathes, rakes his hands back through his hair and heads for the bathroom. In the shower--turned as cold as he can stand it--he leans against the wall under the spray and waits for his heart to slow.

This is going to be all right. He can do this. Fucking up is not inevitable.

And there's only a five second period where he wants to drive a fist into the wall.

Water off, towel, shave, brush teeth, clothes. Autopilot. He doesn't have the attention to spare for more than that. Neil. Neil's bare skin, the subtle curve of his spine, the smell of his hair. The huskiness in his voice when he speaks softly. The rhythm of his breathing when he sleeps. Licking his own lips in the dark and tasting sweat that isn't his.

Fuck. It shouldn't be legal to want someone like this, with the whole of himself, in ways he doesn't even really know how to jam into words. Was it like this before? Has it ever been like this before?

When he feels his feet carrying him back to the apartment next door and through the unlocked door, he guesses it's because they can't really carry him anywhere else at this point.