This is a story of fiction, all resemblances (dead or alive) are eerily coincidental. Everything in the story is owned by myself beloved. Contains descriptive sexual scenes between males, if you are not supposed to read it then don't. Feel free to e-mail me.
- XIX -
He knew that Gabriel was awake even before he opened his eyes. They lay still and silent for several long, `tick-tock' interrupted minutes.
"Sucked you in again?" Gabriel asked finally in emotionless voice, and Desmond sighed.
"No," he answered. "I woke up right there, in that parking lot, next to the dumpster... That damn dumpster almost made me puke..."
"I see..." Gabriel said thoughtfully. "So it doesn't even have to warn you that it's about to get you, huh?"
"That's what it seems like," Desmond agreed bitterly.
They fell silent again.
"He wanted me to finish him," Gabriel said suddenly, and Desmond shifted slightly on top of him and looked up. "He wanted me to finish him," Rayhe repeated. "Strange, but I never realized that until now..." He looked at Desmond without blinking. "You knew that when you witnessed the whole thing, didn't you?"
"Yes," Desmond answered quietly without shifting his gaze.
"He played me just the way he wanted," Gabriel said thoughtfully. "I granted his wish..." He frowned. "If you knew that was what he wanted, why didn't you stop me? I mean, I would get some satisfaction in refusing him that favor, even though it was just a dream..."
"Ugh," Desmond sighed and sat up, blanket sliding down to his waist. "I talked to Tess yesterday," he looked at Gabriel again. "She said..." He paused for a second. "She told me not to interfere under any circumstances," he nodded slowly. "Because this ability can alter the flow of actual events..."
"How?" Gabriel frowned even deeper, and Desmond shrugged.
"I don't know," he said. "But I am not taking any chances."
"Did she tell you how to resist the calls then?" Gabriel pulled himself up on the pillow slightly.
"She has no idea," Desmond said gloomily. "Apparently, this damn ability is so bloody rare that even Tess has no clue about it... She said there were only two dream manipulators throughout the entire history..."
"Dream manipulators?" Gabriel blinked.
"Yeah," Desmond sighed. "That's what it's called."
"I see," Gabriel nodded melancholically, falling silent yet again.
Desmond watched his empty expression for several minutes without saying anything. Finally, he sighed.
"When I was fourteen," he said in a low voice, and Gabriel shifted his gaze towards him. "I killed my Grandmother," Desmond continued calmly. "She was my first kill," he nodded. "And yes, it was the worst."
He never told Gabriel about his Grandmother; Rayhe knew about Tomah, Lorena May, and quite a few others – Desmond would reminiscence about his old marks and cases often. He told Gabriel about Jason, about his mistake that led to his mentor's demise; Rayhe knew all of that. However, Desmond never told him about his Grandmother – it was the only thing he simply couldn't bring himself telling him. He didn't know why; he just couldn't tell him.
"She didn't do anything new," he continued as calmly as before. "I mean, she was doing that ever since I turned four, I was used to it... That day though..." he paused. "I don't know," he shrugged slowly. "Something snapped in me finally; I couldn't deal with that anymore."
He looked at silent Gabriel.
"I wanted to leave," he continued. "Just get all my shit and leave the house, but she wouldn't let me... I think she really wanted to kill me right then," he said thoughtfully. "I never knew how much she hated me until that day... Anyway," he shook his head slightly, noting that still unusual lightness and lack of long strands falling into his face. "One thing led to another, and I ended up strangling her to death..." He nodded again. "That's what my nightmares are..." He glanced at Gabriel. "The ones I wouldn't talk to you about... Replaying the same event, over and over..."
"Sounds like it was nothing but self-defense," Gabriel said after a few minutes.
"No, it wasn't," Desmond replied quietly. "I could've simply knocked her out, just stop her... Hell, I could've tied her down," he grinned darkly. "I didn't. I went all the way."
Gabriel looked at him silently for several more minutes, and Desmond never shifted his gaze, his expression as calm as before. Finally, Rayhe's eyes darted towards the clock for a second, and then he said in a low voice:
"It's five in the morning; we have two hours before we have to get up..."
Desmond gave him a small, somewhat relieved smile and smoothly slid next to him on the couch.
"I want you on top this time," he murmured and ran his tongue over Gabriel's lips, tracing them one at a time. "Go slowly for as long as you can possibly handle... Make me beg..." he whispered with a dark, lustful smile.
"You will be pleading," Gabriel muttered, kicking off the blanket, his hand slowly running down the side of Desmond's body. "You will be pleading nonstop..." he nodded and nipped at his mate's throat a couple of times before starting sliding his face down his chest.
Desmond closed his eyes and buried his fingers in Gabriel's hair.
"Make me beg..." he whispered again, and his back arched slightly when Rayhe's tongue started working its magic.
Several weeks later, Gabriel was finally able to come to terms with Desmond's new ability. He didn't like it (for obvious reasons), but he stopped dwelling on every single time Desmond would witness yet another one of his dreams. It wouldn't happen every night, to Gabriel's defeated relief; usually, it would happen three times a week, sometimes four, but not more than that. Rayhe could live with that. Sometimes, he would wonder why he was the only target for this pesky ability, but then he figured that it simply needed time to develop more to be able to spread onto someone else.
"You talk about it as if it were a disease," Desmond grumbled one of those days when Gabriel told him his theory.
"It *is *a disease," Rayhe nodded firmly. "And it's contagious too!"
"How so?" Desmond frowned at that.
"If it weren't contagious, I wouldn't remember seeing you in my dreams," Gabriel nodded again. "It would only bug you; instead, it tortures me as well. It's contagious."
Desmond rolled his eyes and said something in his usual manner, which Gabriel ignored, as he would often do. Then, several days after that conversation, Desmond learnt a new maneuver while he was visiting yet another one of Gabriel's dreams – a maneuver that made him feel rather satisfied.
It was Friday night (or rather, early Saturday morning), and he was relieved that he wouldn't have to get up early tomorrow – he hated early mornings with deep passion, he was never a morning person. He mumbled, "Night..." to Gabriel's "Sleep tight, and I mean it; stay in your own cocoon," yawned, and let sleep to overpower him easily.
He felt pretty safe about tonight – he had another dream-visit a couple of nights ago, and combined with the rest of those he had during the week, it made total of three. "See you Monday night, Rayhe..." was the last thing in his mind before he fell asleep. Then, a couple hours later, he woke up because of a very powerful jolt shooting through him, and it wasn't the pleasant kind; this jolt felt like someone decided to hook him up to some sort of a machine, which was delivering electroshock.
"Stop...!" he muttered even before he opened his eyes. He had no idea who or what he was talking to, but he really didn't want to experience yet another jolt. "Stop...!"
There were no other jolts, and he almost sighed with relief, when suddenly, he felt that rather familiar by now, cool, impatient breeze.
"Ah, hell..." he sighed with frustration and opened his eyes just in time to see the wall of their bedroom rush towards him with envious speed.
Desmond sighed without even trying to reach for his clothes this time – he knew that the ability would take care of that for him.
"What now?" he muttered after he found himself in some unfamiliar room. "Holy hell, am I actually visiting someone else...?"
His mood perked up somewhat (he was getting tired of Rayhe's teeth grinding every time Desmond would witness yet another event from his past. Sure, Gabriel wasn't as mad about it as he was when this damn ability hit Desmond several weeks ago, but he would be quite gloomy every morning he woke up from yet another shared dream), and when he heard a very familiar voice behind the closed door, he closed his eyes with deep and utter desperation.
"Damn..." he muttered with a heavy sigh. "It's time to focus on someone other than Rayhe, don't you think?" he asked his ability in harsh whisper, and sighed when nothing changed. "Thanks for listening," he nodded gloomily and looked around.
The place looked like a hotel room, and not a cheap kind, for that matter. Desmond raised one eyebrow when he saw a bottle of champagne resting in a bucket filled with ice, and a bouquet of dark-red roses towering proudly above that bucket.
"Champagne," he thought warily. "Roses..." He glanced around some more, and blinked rapidly when he saw a pair of pink, fuzzy handcuffs resting coyly on top of one of the pillows.
All these objects could only mean one thing...
"God, it has been too long..." Rayhe's voice said from behind the closed door, and this time, it sounded closer than it did a minute ago. "I hope you freed up your schedule for tomorrow, because you are not getting out of bed...!"
Yeah, all these objects meant exactly that, Desmond thought feverishly, while he glanced around wildly. Rayhe was about to get into this room, horny as hell, and with someone in tow.
"Dammit..." Desmond moaned quietly, wondering if he could maybe hide in the closet until his ability decided it was okay to let him go.
"Look in the closet when we get there," Rayhe said from behind the closed door, and Desmond swore up a whispery storm. "There is something in there for you... I hope you will like it..."
"I *know *I will," a female's voice said in velvety purring. "God, Gabriel, it has only been ten days, but I feel like I haven't seen you for at least a year...! God, I missed you...!"
"I missed you too, Sheila," Rayhe's voice said, and Desmond's eyes became perfectly round.
"Sheila?" he thought numbly. "Sheila?! Fucking hell..."
He definitely did not want to bump nose-to-nose with Rayhe and his first mate-to-be, even though he was somewhat curious about her.
"I am not *that *curious," he thought desperately and glanced around again, more wildly this time.
He was perfectly aware of the fact that Gabriel would give him crapload of nasty looks after he woke up in the morning, and that he would care less about the fact that Desmond was completely and utterly helpless when it came to this particular ability.
"You could've hid," he heard Rayhe's voice in his head. "You could've just gotten the hell out of sight...! Why in the world did you decide to stay in the middle of the goddamn room?"
He groaned softly in trapped desperation when he heard a light scratch of the key in the keyhole.
"Under the bed?" he thought wildly. "Shit, do I have to hide under the bloody bed?! Goddammit...! I don't want to be here...! Get me out...! Goddammit, get me the hell out...!"
He glanced around yet again, with no hope this time whatsoever. Suddenly, there was something rather near him that made him frown in disbelieving, panicking manner. There was some sort of a shimmer in mid-air, which suspiciously looked like that very familiar transparent wall – it was the same kind of shimmer,' and it was the same kind of see-through,' except now, there was just some small, almost insignificant portion that was doing it.
"Mnngh..." was all Desmond said before lunging towards that shimmer.
He made it there right before the door of the room swung open, and he closed his eyes, almost positive that Gabriel would see him, and that the shimmer would never work. "Who in the bloody hell are you...?" he almost heard in his head when he made an impact with that shimmer.
Instead of Rayhe's voice, he heard nothing but buzzing silence, and he risked opening one of his eyes just a tad. He glanced around quickly through his half-shut eyelid, and when it seemed that he was safe, he let out a shaky breath and opened both of his eyes all the way, scanning the area warily.
"Huh..." he thought a minute later. "I suppose, I *can *make it bend to my will after all... I can't make it to stop, but I can make it to change the scenery...! That's the start..."
He almost ordered his pesky ability to take him somewhere else, when his curiosity took the best of him. "Where in the world am I?" he thought with genuine interest while looking around without blinking. "I have never visited this place before... Rayhe...?" he glanced around, looking for Gabriel.
It seemed like he was in some big garden. Desmond looked around again, with more appreciation this time. The place was impressive, to say the least. It was obvious that a whole lot of care, time, and money were put into this garden to make it look this way. Desmond started slowly walking down a winding path, enjoying the sweet floating smell of roses. There was nobody around, it seemed; the garden was empty except for Desmond himself and countless birds that kept exchanging busy chirping signals.
After five minutes or so, Desmond saw something ahead of him; it looked like a gazebo. He headed towards it, wondering whose dream was he visiting now, and where was the dreamer. Finally, he made it through the trees and bushes of some peculiar looking flowers (those purple things almost made him sneeze a couple of times), and slowed down somewhat, patting his shoulder, trying to get all that purple powdery dust off his sleeve.
It was indeed a gazebo, white and ornate, with interesting-looking roof and elegant low benches. Right next to the gazebo there was something that looked like a rather large koi fish pond. Someone was sitting next to that pond, hugging his knees, his head pulled into his shoulders. The person sat still, and Desmond had no idea who it was.
"This must be the dreamer," Desmond thought with a small frown and walked closer. "Who in the world..."
His foot kicked one of the small rocks and it immediately rolled towards the pond, smacking into larger rocks on the way with soft clanking sound. The person by the pond jerked slightly, straightened up somewhat, and turned around without letting go of his knees. Desmond froze in his spot.
"Sam?" he said incredulously, and the kid by the pond (he looked like he was maybe thirteen right now) frowned at that.
"Who are you?" he asked tightly. "And what do you want? Leave me alone, whoever you are; it's not seven in the evening yet..."
Desmond frowned, wondering what seven in the evening had to do with anything, and then he realized that was probably when LeVoughn-senior came back home from work. Desmond closed his eyes for a second. Then he opened them when he heard a very familiar sound.
"What are you doing?" he asked dumbfoundedly when he saw the kid light up a cigarette – the sound of lighter was the one that made Desmond open his eyes. "Sam, what are you doing?"
The kid threw him a dark look without saying anything.
"Sam, you don't smoke," Desmond stepped closer. "What are you doing...?"
"I don't," the kid agreed in the same tight voice. "Figured that I wanted to see what all the fuss was about..." He looked at the cigarette thoughtfully.
"And...?" Desmond asked when the kid fell silent again.
"It's okay," Sam shrugged. "Nothing spectacular," he dragged on his cigarette slowly, and suddenly, Desmond craved one so bad that his head throbbed.
"Hey, could I..." He coughed. "Could I have one of those?"
Sam looked at him with some mild curiosity this time, and put the pack of the cigarettes and the lighter next to the pond, closer to Desmond.
"Help yourself," he shrugged.
"Is it okay if I sit with you?" Desmond asked carefully, and Sam shrugged again without looking up.
"I don't care," he said. "Just don't throw cigarette butts into the pond..." he looked at the blue water. "It's bad for the fish."
"I won't," Desmond promised and sat down on the soft grass, reaching for the cigarettes. "So..." he said after he inhaled several times with great satisfaction. "I don't wanna sound like a nag, but..."
Sam threw him another mildly curious look.
"This shit is addictive," Desmond nodded. "You might wanna steer clear of that."
He figured that he wasn't really interfering, since Sam didn't smoke ever since Desmond knew him.
"I won't get addicted," Sam let out short laughter. "You can't get addicted in three days...! Well, not to smokes anyway," he shrugged. "And tomorrow it won't even matter."
Desmond frowned at that.
"What do you mean?" he asked, and Sam sighed and turned towards him.
"Who are you?" he demanded. "I've never seen you before!"
"I am..." Desmond paused and looked at his cigarette for a few seconds. "I am in your dream," he said finally with a slow nod.
"Dream..." Sam repeated in a low voice. "I am dreaming right now..."
He sounded dark and sarcastic.
"Yeah," Desmond sighed. "Anyway, what's tomorrow?"
Sam pressed his lips tight, clearly not buying the dreaming part. Finally, he sighed again and turned away from Desmond, staring at the pond once more, his half-finished cigarette resting between his fingers.
"Nothing," he muttered. "Tomorrow there will be nothing... Finally," he hemmed.
Desmond frowned deeper and dove into kid's mind.
"...right after he leaves for work," he heard. "Don't wanna do it too late; he might be able to bring me back again... Just have to make sure he didn't find my razor..."
"Sam, no..." Desmond muttered, feeling icy-cold all of a sudden. Right now, he could care less about the consequences of his interfering. "No, don't...!"
The kid looked at him with a mix of surprise and tired indifference.
"Don't what?" he asked.
"Don't kill yourself," Desmond muttered. "Lose the fucking razor...!"
Now Sam frowned.
"How did you know?" he asked slowly.
"Doesn't matter," Desmond said quickly without looking away from kid's dark-blue eyes. "Don't do it! Please!"
"I guess I *am *dreaming," Sam muttered under his breath. "Why do you even care?" he sighed.
"Because I love you," Desmond said as quickly as before, and now, the kid looked wary. "Not in a sexual way," Desmond said impatiently. "There was never anything sexual between us, and there never will be! Different kind of love...! You are..." he stuttered for a second. "Hell, you are my kid!"
"Huh," Sam said thoughtfully and looked away again. "You are my survival instinct... Brain works in mysterious ways," he grinned.
"How old are you right now?" Desmond asked quickly without bothering to dispute his theory.
"Sixteen," Sam said melancholically.
"What month is it right now?" Desmond yanked another cigarette out of the pack without even noticing it.
"September," Sam nodded. "Well..." he frowned. "Tomorrow is October first."
"Sam, you have four months and fourteen days before you can finally get the hell out of here!" Desmond almost grabbed kid's shoulder, but restrained himself at the last second. The kid will freak out, he thought warily; dream or not, but the kid will definitely freak out. "Sam, you'll get out of this hell in four months! Please...!"
"That's too long," the kid said thoughtfully. "Even four days sound too long..." He sighed and looked at Desmond with a small smile. "It's even worse now," he said quietly. "Julian's mate got killed a month ago... He's been in a very dark mood ever since that happened," he nodded, and Desmond squeezed his eyes shut, cursing helplessly in his head. "So yeah," Sam continued. "Four months is the same for me right now as four hundred years. I can't do this any longer."
"Sam," Desmond opened his eyes. "I never begged for anything in my life, but I am begging you right now, please don't...! Do you want me to go on my knees? I will..."
"What are you doing?" Sam frowned when Desmond indeed attempted to get on his knees. "God, get up! Bloody hell... Get up...!"
"Sam, please..." Desmond whispered, sitting down again slowly.
"So I'll get out of here," Sam said sharply, unborn frustrated tears reflecting in his eyes. "I'll get out, and then what? It will never go away; it will be with me for the rest of my life...!"
"Yes," Desmond nodded quickly. "But it will get better..."
Sam snorted at that rather loudly and reached for another cigarette.
"It will get better, I swear," Desmond hesitantly handed him the lighter. "Look..." He took a deep breath. "How about we'll make a deal... Postpone this, okay? I mean, you can always do it later; it's not like you are going to miss a time window or something..."
"Postpone," Sam repeated, narrowing his left eye from cigarette smoke.
"Yeah," Desmond nodded. "If everything is still shitty on your twenty-first birthday, go through with it."
"Twenty-first?" Sam repeated incredulously. "Are you out of your..."
"It'll get better before that," Desmond interrupted him. "I swear...!"
Sam gritted his teeth, sucking on his cigarette furiously.
"Damn you," he muttered finally after several minutes. "Goddamn you... I've made up my mind; I finally accepted it... Shit..." he squeezed his eyes shut for a second. "I was almost looking forward to it... And now..." He opened his eyes and looked at Desmond. "Damn you," he said again bitterly.
"Sam..." Desmond started saying, when suddenly, the trees and bushes behind Sam's back shimmered slightly, and several seconds later, Desmond could clearly see his own bedroom and himself sleeping next to Gabriel. "Crap," he muttered, and Sam looked at him with a silent, dark question. "I gotta go," Desmond said tightly. "Promise me that you won't do it!"
Sam stared at him with the same twisted frown, his jaw locked tightly, forgotten cigarette dying in his grasp.
"Promise me!" Desmond said louder when the bedroom on the other end of the reality swayed somewhat impatiently, as if saying, `Hurry up before I lose my patience!' "Promise me!"
"Goddamn you..." Sam whispered and closed his eyes, one of the tears finally escaping the prison of his eyelashes.
"Sam..." It seemed like shimmering transparency has finally lost its patience, and the bedroom was getting closer rather quickly.
"I promise!" Sam yelled angrily and opened his eyes. "I promise...! Damn you! I promise...! Happy now?"
"Yeah," Desmond muttered. "Stop smoking," he added, and then transparency swallowed him whole and he wasn't in the garden anymore.
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